


For Want of a Nail

by goreds



Category: The Expanse (TV), The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Relationships, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, emphasis on eventual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreds/pseuds/goreds
Summary: Chrisjen Avasarala decides not to leave Sadavir Errinwright behind on Earth when it comes time for her off-planet meeting with Jules-Pierre Mao.An inter-system shitstorm still gets set off.
Relationships: Amos Burton & Clarissa Mao, Amos Burton/Praxidike Meng, Amos Burton/Sadavir Errinwright, Bobbie Draper & Alex Kamal, Camina Drummer/Naomi Nagata, Chrisjen Avasarala/Amos Burton, Chrisjen Avasarala/Bobbie Draper, Chrisjen Avasarala/Sadavir Errinwright, Jim Holden/Naomi Nagata
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. The Not-So Monster and the Rocket

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergent from s2e12 "The Monster and the Rocket" onwards.

Sadavir Errinwright feels hope for the first time in days. Jules-Pierre Mao wants to meet with Chrisjen, and maybe if she’ll take him with her, he can both avoid his inevitable political demise _and_ spit in Mao’s face.

 _If_ she’ll take him with her. He can tell Chrisjen isn’t sure, that all her instincts are saying no, make him stay and face the music. But something inside her ( _pity_ , he decides later), says yes.

“Yes. Yes, we’ll go together.” Chrisjen gives him a small smile, like she knows this is a mistake. But then: “I do the talking.”

“Of course, of course.”

“Take your trinket back,” she says, pushing the boxed medal back into his hands. “You’ve never been to space, have you?”

“Never needed to,” Sadavir says this sheepishly--he knows he should’ve gone off-planet at least once in his life, but he never had the time. Or the opportunity.

“Well, nut up,” Chrisjen says blandly, “It’s not for the weak of spirit...or stomach.”

* * *

Cotyar Ghazi is furious with her. “You’re letting that _snake_ come with us?”

“Yes, I am. He’s probably less dangerous with us than left to his own devices, besides.” Chrisjen takes a sip of whiskey and smiles at the burn. “What can he do but snivel, anyway? And the poor man’s never been to space. He’ll be useless. Which is right where I want him.”

“He could be useless down here, too. Not get in the way of you and Mao. And if this is a trap--”

“Then I want Sadavir trapped with me.”

Bobbie Draper has been watching this exchange with wide eyes. Chrisjen looks at the newly expatriate Martian with a smile in her own eyes.

“Bobbie, what do you think of our Mr. Errinwright?”

“I, uh, dunno if I’d call him a _snake_ , but I agree with you, ma’am. He won’t be a danger up there. Earther’s never even been to space.” Bobbie almost chortles at that last part, but holds back thanks to a stern look from Chrisjen.

Cotyar throws his arms in the air. “What’s the point of being your chief of security if you don’t listen to me?”

“I listened to you, I just didn’t fucking agree. Get used to it, Cotyar.” Chrisjen smugly smiles. She has to admit, she’s proud of herself.

* * *

On the shuttle up to _UN Two_ , Chrisjen puts on a brave face. Cotyar glares holes through Sadavir, and Sadavir has to admit he’s scared shitless-by both the new sensation of being in space _and_ Cotyar. The younger man clearly doesn’t want Sadavir around, but they both know that what Chrisjen wants, Chrisjen gets.

Bobbie, the Martian marine, sits confidently on her crash couch, seemingly not concerned at all by the shift in gravity or by the tension between Sadavir and Cotyar. She even hums a little space shanty to herself, clearly enjoying all of this.

Sadavir wants to say something to Chrisjen, but the anti-nausea meds are barely working and he _really_ doesn’t want to puke all over her. He wonders how Esteban is doing, all on his own. Bobblehead’s probably doing fine. He’s got all the admirals with him and all his other advisors. He can survive without both Chrisjen and Sadavir for a few days.

Well, he’ll probably survive without Sadavir for good once they get back. This is his last chance at freedom, he knows that. He feels grateful to Chrisjen, even if the full range of her pity is dawning on him.

Sadavir does suppose he is rather piteous, now. And as he feels bile slipping up his throat, he feels like he’s about to be even more piteous. But he _swallows_ , thank god, and the bile settles back down.

This is hell--how has Chrisjen done it all these years?

Finally, they make it to _UN Two_ , and Sadavir walks on shaky legs into the artificial gravity haven of the top-of-the-line cruiser, sighing with relief. Cotyar clasps him on the shoulder, stopping him from going any further. The man practically purrs into Sadavir’s ear. “You even _think_ of stepping out of line, and I will shoot you on the spot like the venomous lizard you are.”

“Lizard? Really? I’m not even a snake?” Sadavir knows it’s probably not a good idea to piss Cotyar off, but he’s really getting tired of the reptile and amphibian references tossed around behind his back.

“Lay off him, Ghazi,” Bobbie says, passing the two quickly, bumping Sadavir’s _other_ shoulder, almost making him topple over.

Cotyar lets go of Sadavir’s shoulder, nearly shoving him. He does fall to the ground this time.

Chrisjen rolls her eyes at the both of them. “Such macho behavior. Get off the ground, Sadavir, you look like a fool.”

Cotyar just grins at Sadavir.

* * *

It’s an uneventful trip to the _Guanshiyin_ , Jules-Pierre’s yacht. Chrisjen thinks it looks like a fucking perfume bottle, and she says so. Sadavir, poor man, spends most of the trip to the yacht in his quarters with gravity sickness. She looks in on him a few times. Once, he was in the toilet, retching. Another time, he was curled up in the fetal position on his bunk, muttering to himself. He held a conversation with her on the second-to-last day of their flight.

Well, sort-of a conversation. It was like he was sleepwalking. Chrisjen feels almost bad for letting him come along, but she knows she’s better off having him around where she can keep an eye on him. Cotyar’s not impressed. Bobbie’s not really, either, and Chrisjen catches the two of them having a good time at Sadavir’s expense more than once.

Bobbie has a particularly nasty impression of him taking his first steps in artificial gravity after the shuttle flight, which Chrisjen told her to stop doing.

Bobbie does not stop doing it.

When they dock with the yacht, Sadavir comes out of his quarters, looking like the past few days had never happened. He always did clean up well, Chrisjen muses.

Really, the only way you can tell he’s still having a rough time is by the tiny tremor he has in his right hand, which Chrisjen notices when he wipes some sweat off his brow. Truly. He looks great. 

He doesn't. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He grunts.

“Like hell.”

Sadavir just frowns at Chrisjen before straightening his posture, staring straight ahead. “You think Jules-Pierre’s got something up his sleeve?”

“Oh, I’m positive he does. That’s why I brought you. Human shield.”

Sadavir emits a mirthless chuckle. Well, at least he can laugh without puking everywhere now. Chrisjen’s starting to feel a little proud of her former aide. And kicking herself for never taking him up with her.

“Madam? The dock is complete.” Chrisjen nods to the young officer and swoops her way towards the airlock.

“Let’s take this motherfucker out.”

* * *

Bobbie is practically devouring the cucumber sandwiches Jules-Pierre thoughtfully put out. Sadavir is tempted to ask her if they have actual food on Mars, but he figures sporting a blooming black eye when Jules-Pierre finally graces them with his presence is a bad idea.

Cotyar is on his guard and for once it’s not aimed at Sadavir. Cotyar doesn’t have a weapon, and Sadavir can tell it’s killing the man who’s supposed to be the chief of security for Chrisjen. He’s meant to protect her; well, Cotyar can’t very well protect if he has nothing to protect _with_.

So Sadavir is the human shield, like Chrisjen says. He suspects Cotyar would totally throw him in front of them if someone starts firing their weapon. He’s not sure he can blame Cotyar, but he’s increasingly wondering if it wasn’t pity that drove Chrisjen to take him to space. It was for her protection, maybe? From him?

But what would he do? (Well, he _had_ had his ideas on turning on her if she didn’t let him come...but to be fair, those weren’t clear. He was a little too filled with despair that morning to plot.)

Bobbie’s almost eaten all of the sandwiches by the time Jules-Pierre comes in, his elegant self properly sitting on his chair in the center of the room. Sadavir lurks in the corner while Bobbie and Cotyar flank Chrisjen on the couch.

“I didn’t think you’d bring your pet,” Jules-Pierre says, nodding to Sadavir. There’s nothing but loathing in his eyes. Sadavir loathes right back.

“Mr. Errinwright is here to assist in negotiations. He knows better than anyone the depths of your depravities.” Chrisjen’s voice is steel. Sadavir likes her in this mode.

“Ah yes, Eros. It got out of hand. But the protomolecule is--”

“Too dangerous for any one man to have. Clearly, you can’t control it. Venus is--"

“Madam Avasarala, I know full well you have spies on the UN’s science vessel. They don’t know what they’re dealing with.”

“Oh, and you do? You annihilated an entire space station, Monsieur Mao.”

“That was...unfortunate. But in the path of science--” Jules-Pierre is a broken record. Sadavir almost jumps in, but a look from Chrisjen silences him.

And then...the balance of the galaxy shifts dramatically. Jules-Pierre receives a message alert.

It’s a message from...Martian Defense Minister Korshunov? Sadavir reflects that he’s not that much of a snake. At least not compared to Korshunov. 

“Good evening, Monsieur Mao, Madam Avasarala and Mr. Errinwright. Monsieur Mao: the MCRN ship _Karakum_ is on its way to Ganymede to pick up the payload. I pray your delivery is ready.”

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Chrisjen is clearly startled by the whole thing.

“Sadavir: you really should’ve known better than to fuck with me. Stealing away a loyal Martian marine was one thing, but making deals with Mao behind my back? I’m hurt. You wanted a war, and now you’re getting one.”

“Fuck,” Cotyar says, under his breath.

“Madam Avasarala: be rest assured you were collateral damage in all of this. I had hoped Sadavir would have the balls to go to Mao on his own, but you _were_ excellent bait.”

“Uh, ma’am,” Bobbie croaks out.

“Monsieur Mao. Clean up this damn mess...and then you will get the fuck back to work.” The message concludes. Sadavir realizes his breathing has gone a little ragged. Maybe he is going to be a human shield. Before he realizes it, Cotyar has gone into a defensive position with Chrisjen, and Bobbie’s grabbing Sadavir, too. Well, maybe the human shield part was an exaggeration. Jules-Pierre just glowers at the four as he exits the room. Sadavir glowers right back.

* * *

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!_ Chrisjen can only think in profanities at this point, she’s so mad. She’s never been bait before, and she never intended to be bait, and all she can think is how much she wants to punch the smug off of both Mao and Korshunov’s faces.

And then kick Sadavir for good measure. Not that he knew the totality of what was coming. But he got into some nasty fucking business, for sure.

Mao’s private security are pointing their weapons at the four of them, clearly ready to shoot at a hair-trigger. It all depends on who blinks first. Turns out it’s Bobbie.

She easily takes out the closest guard with a quick uppercut, stealing his weapon and ducking behind a chair, firing all the way. As soon as she moves, the other guards open fire, though. Cotyar flips one of the couches and sticks Chrisjen down behind it.

“Stay down,” he yells.

“What the fuck else would I do?” She realizes with horror that she doesn’t know where Sadavir is. She looks around as best she can. Abandoned by Bobbie, he’s in the corner of the room, huddling and clutching his gut. _Shit_. “Sadavir, crawl the fuck over here,” she hisses.

“That’s going to be a little difficult, Chrisjen.” Sadavir raises a bloody hand in her direction.

Chrisjen continues to hiss. “Play dead, then.”

“Very method of me,” he mutters.

“Shut. Up.” Chrisjen turns her attention back to Cotyar, who’s scanning the room. Bobbie’s still firing her pistol, but she’ll be out of bullets soon. Good thing she’s taken out all but two of the guards.

Too bad those are the crack shots. Cotyar is letting loose a string of frankly, unmentionable words, and that’s saying something, considering Chrisjen’s own vocabulary. Chrisjen grabs at Cotyar’s arm.

“Cotyar. Sadavir--”

“Ma’am, we’ve got bigger problems than him--”

“He still outranks me, asshole. He’s your priority now.”

“Ma’am, I work for you, not him--”

“Bobbie can cover you. Just get him over here.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” is all Cotyar can say. But it’s an emphatic, furious curse. “Bobbie, give me cover!”

“Yessir,” Bobbie shouts back.

Cotyar moves over to Sadavir as quickly as possible and lifts the taller man up, scooting him over to Chrisjen, still huddling behind the couch. He places Sadavir next to Chrisjen, and he’s almost back behind the couch too, when one of the two remaining guards clips his arm. “Fuck!” He yowls in pain.

Sadavir is chuckling. “Very stoic for a former soldier.” Chrisjen smacks him.

“That’s not funny, Sadavir. Not right now.”

“Sorry, Chrisjen, it’s just--” but Sadavir is out.

“Fuck, what do we do?” Chrisjen can feel panic rising.

“Let him die?” Cotyar, in the face of everything, sounds cruelly hopeful.

“I’ll let you die, too, just wait, you motherfucker.” A cry of jubilation from Bobbie interrupts them.

“Got the last one, ma’am! But there’s going to be more on the way.” Bobbie grabs the weapons from the guards, in various states of injury and dismemberment. She hands a large gun to Cotyar, and she hands a small pistol to Chrisjen.

“What the fuck do you expect me to do with this?”

“Shoot someone in the face, ma’am. If this one passes out like that one did,” Bobbie points to Sadavir.

“I’m not going to pass out,” Cotyar grunts. “Is there a medi-kit around here?”

* * *

Sadavir comes to with a gasp and a distinct feeling of pain in his stomach. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. Chrisjen is smacking him on the face lightly, but still enough to make an impact.

“Sadavir, Sadavir, you’ve got to stay awake. Stay with me, okay?” Chrisjen sounds concerned. Overly concerned. Sadavir blinks blearily, looking down at the bloom of blood on his white shirt.

“I’m assuming that’s not good.”

“It’s not ideal, but we’ve got a clotting agent in you, and that might help.”

“Am I gonna make it, doc?” He says this cheesily.

Chrisjen is not impressed. “Oh, shut up.”

“What happened? They stopped shooting.”

“Bobbie took them down. And now Jules-Pierre’s abandoning ship, setting it to self-destruct along the way. They already blew up _UN Two_.”

“That’s promising. Where’s Cotyar and the marine now?”

“Bobbie’s getting to engineering to see if she can shut the self-destruct off. Cotyar’s going to the bridge to see if he can send out a distress signal.”

“They left you alone?” Sadavir’s almost mad but he mostly feels numb.

“Not alone,” Chrisjen says with a smile, lifting a little pistol into the air.

“Do you even know how to use that?”

“Better me than you.”

“I guess that’s true.” Sadavir has the distinct feeling of being lightheaded. He can feel himself drifting out of consciousness again, but Chrisjen tugs on his shoulder.

“Wake up, Sadavir. I’ve got to patch up your wound.”

“You have to do this while I’m awake?”

“I’ll need your help.” With that, she rips the part of his shirt covering the wound away. Just the movement of swift air over ragged flesh makes him want to pass out again. Or die. But she’s there, her own hands covered in blood-- _his_ blood--and applying pressure, which is so painful he can’t collapse after all.

“Your bedside manner is extraordinary.” She ignores him, injecting him with...something near the wound. Chrisjen then reaches around to his back, patting him.

“Shit. There’s no exit wound. The bullets are still in there.”

“That...doesn’t sound good.”

“Well, short term you won’t bleed out as fast, long term literal lead poisoning _and_ infection.”

“I think I would have preferred just not getting shot.”

“Well, you’re the one who asked to come.”

“You let me.”

Chrisjen glares at him, looking like she might strangle him right then and there, mercy killing him in the process. She wraps a bandage around his middle, covering the wound as best she can. He leans back against the couch with a moan.

“Have you done that before?”

“No. Cotyar walked me through it.”

Sadavir winces. “So I might still die.”

“You’re going to die regardless. Probably. Even if they do manage to stop the self-destruct sequence, we can’t get off this ship. Korshunov will be after us sooner or later. It’ll all end in a boom.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“I met you halfway, Sadavir. But you have bad fucking taste in friends.”

“I’m friends with you, aren’t I?” The alarm klaxon indicating the self-destruct sequence turns off. “Is that a good thing or...?”

Bobbie comes up on the screen, from engineering. “Ma’am, I got it shut off! Patching Cotyar through now.”

Cotyar is on the bridge, a few dead officers strewn at his feet. “We’ve taken control of the bridge, ma’am. Ready to send a distress signal out at your command.”

“Do it, Cotyar.”

Cotyar and Bobbie disappear off the screen. “And now we wait,” Chrisjen says. She’s still applying pressure to Sadavir’s wound. He isn’t sure she’s aware of that.

* * *

Eventually, Chrisjen and Sadavir make their way to the bridge. Slowly, carefully, with a promise of a more extensive medi-kit there. Chrisjen finds herself nearly carrying Sadavir at some points, and she knows Cotyar needs to stay and monitor the bridge, but she wishes Bobbie would hurry up her scouting of the ship and come help her.

She and Cotyar prop Sadavir up in the captain’s chair, which he makes some joke about that she can’t remember. Cotyar continues to work on the wound; luckily Cotyar’s own wound was a clean in and out. All he needed was a bandage and regular anti-bacterial meds.

Chrisjen watches as Sadavir sleeps, face contorted in pain. _I never should have let you come_ , she wants to say, but doesn’t. Cotyar wouldn’t let her live down being sentimental towards Sadavir, anyhow.

Bobbie emerges from her scouting trip excitedly. “Ma’am, you’ll never believe it. There’s a racing pinnace docked.”

“That’s not great news, Bobbie,” Cotyar says, a little too ominously.

“Why is that not a good thing?” Chrisjen has to admit she knows nothing about racing pinnaces.

“Most racing pinnaces are two-seaters. I don’t know if you had noticed, but there’s four of us.” Cotyar shrugs.

“Fuck,” Chrisjen mutters under her breath. While she knows she’s the priority, she also knows she’s not letting any of the other three out of her sight. “Well, that’s not an option. We all leave, or--”

“Ma’am, I’m not the mission. You are the mission. If Bobbie can fly that thing--”

“I can--”

“Then you two get in there and fly the hell away. If the MCRN comes for us, Sadavir and I can take it.”

“Oh, bullshit, I’m not leaving either one of you.” Chrisjen knows Cotyar’s right. But she’s right, too. Cotyar and Sadavir don’t deserve to be PoWs in some Martian camp. Well, the Martians’ll probably shoot Sadavir on sight, she realizes.

“You really don’t seem to have a choice, Chrisjen. I’m sorry.” And Cotyar does look truly sorry. The three of them stand in silence with this change of fate.

An alarm goes off, interrupting the silence. Cotyar pulls up a view on a display. “What is it?” Chrisjen says, almost certain she knows what it is.

“It’s the Martians. We gotta get you out of here, ma’am. Right the fuck now.” Cotyar starts dragging Chrisjen towards the direction of the pinnace.

She doesn’t even get to say goodbye to Sadavir.

“Take care of him,” she says to Cotyar. Cotyar just grunts.

The racing pinnace (Julie Mao’s, it turns out) launches away from the yacht with her and Bobbie on board. The MCRN cruiser that shows up blows up the yacht almost on sight. Bobbie doesn’t say if any other craft left the _Guanshiyin_.

Chrisjen prays Cotyar and Sadavir got away. But she doesn’t keep her hopes up.


	2. Caliban's War

The crew of the _Rocinante_ is orbiting Ganymede when they receive the distress signal from Chrisjen.

“Shit,” Alex Kamal says, eyes wide. “If this is all true--”

“Jim, do not launch us headlong into a conflict _again_ ,” Naomi Nagata growls.

“It’s the Deputy Sec-Gen, Naomi--" Amos Burton protests.

“--Deputy Undersecretary, Amos--”

“Whatever--”

“And I don’t particularly have any loyalty or love lost between me and Earth, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Jim Holden finally speaks. “Deputy Undersecretary Avasarala helped everyone when Eros was rocketing towards Earth. She gave Fred Johnson control of Earth’s defense grid. I think you could lighten up on her a little, Naomi.”

Naomi just rolls her eyes. “Well, I can see the Captain has already made his decision.”

Prax Meng looks at the group, cautious as always. “I think we should go.”

Alex looks at Prax warily. “Does he have a vote?”

“We’re not voting!” Holden throws his hands up into the air. “We’re the _Roci_. Rescuing people is what we do at this point.”

“Hoss, I’m doing a scan of the area...there might not be anything left _to_ pick up.” Alex shows them his display--a scattering of debris markers litter the map.

“Shit. Cast a wide net, Alex. Maybe something got away.”

“Yessir.”

“Did whatever destroy the ship leave the area?”

“Looks like it. And you’re not going to like this--the scatter of the debris looks like this was a Martian attack.” Alex winces, looking back at Naomi, who’s crossing her arms and scowling.

“What did I say? Right into another war.” Naomi throws her hands into the air, before leaving the flight deck.

A beeping indicates Alex’s scans are complete. “Looks like there may have been a racing pinnace that got away...the _Razorback_?”

A chill runs down Holden’s spine. _Julie’s ship_. He half expects Miller to pop up in front of him. “See if you can find it. Any pods in the debris?”

“Maybe. There’s some faint life signatures. Well, maybe there are.”

“That’s a lot of maybes.”

“We’re pretty far out.” Alex isn’t getting snippy, although Holden feels his own self getting snippy.

Holden knows he cares a _little_ too much about this particular rescue mission, but from the sounds of what Chrisjen Avasarala had just been through, she might have some serious intel that could get everyone to stop goddamn fighting for once. If Korshunov had really ordered Errinwright and Avasarala killed and was working with Mao behind everyone’s back? Some serious shit was going to go down, and Holden wanted to be ahead of it.

* * *

Sadavir wakes up drifting through space in a pod, all alone. He doesn’t know what happened, how he got there, where Chrisjen is. He’s in a vac suit, just floating around. For once he doesn’t feel nauseous. Just cold.

He wonders if he’s dead. Death is fucking miserable, Sadavir concludes. For what seems like an indeterminable amount of time, nothing happens. He drifts in and out of consciousness. At some point, a beeping indicates what he must assume is low oxygen levels.

So maybe he’s not dead, but he’ll be dead very soon.

At some point, he hears clanging above him. He wonders if someone’s come to rescue him. _Probably Martians_ , he grouses. He can feel his wound pulsating beneath the bandages. _How am I not dead yet_?

Suddenly, light pours into his little cell. He winces. Too bright. And then he feels strong, muscular arms picking him up and out of whatever he was inside of. Thick hands take off his helmet, and Sadavir finds himself gasping and spluttering for air, pure air, clean air. He looks for the face of his savior.

He’s greeted by a grinning, wide-eyed man with a crew cut and Belter tattoos. “Well, hello there, Sadavir. Y’know, you don’t look as _sad_ as I expected.” The man laughs a little too boisterously. Like he knows the joke isn’t funny.

Sadavir wants to retort that he’s heard that sort of “joke” since childhood, and it’s never been funny, but he passes out again before he can say anything.

* * *

Amos carries an unconscious Sadavir Errinwright to the med bay, where Prax is waiting. Chrisjen is also there, pacing. Amos not so gently drops Errinwright onto one of the med-bay’s crash couches. Prax just looks at Amos with an amused grin.

Chrisjen is not so amused, and Amos can tell. “Be more fucking careful. You’re handling one of the most important men in Earth’s government.”

“Yeah, but we’re not on Earth. And he kind of looks like a prick to me.” Amos is aware he shouldn’t be pissing the petite woman off, but he really doesn’t care.

To his surprise, Chrisjen (he’s decided he’s going to call her “Chrissy”) just smirks. “He is a prick; you are right on that count.”

“I like you,” Amos says to Chrissy. He turns to Prax. “Well?”

“What do you want me to say? I’m a botanist, not a surgeon, Amos.”

“Fair.”

“According to these scans, he needs a pretty sizable blood transfusion _and_ surgery to get the bullets out of him.” Prax does not like the man’s prognosis, Amos can tell. Amos wants to feel bad, mainly for Chrissy, who certainly seems to care about the prick, but he doesn’t know Errinwright well enough to care himself.

“What are you saying?” Chrissy says, worry etched across her face.

“We can probably get him the blood, but the surgery will have to wait until we dock at a station.” Prax places a comforting hand on Chrissy’s shoulder. “He might recover. He’s been through a lot.”

Amos admires Prax’s bedside manner and bites his tongue from saying anything further. Errinwright’s skin might as well be gray at this point, and he’s gonna have serious nerve damage, and who knows if he’ll even survive, but hell, it’s interesting having two of Earth’s top politicians on board the _Roci_.

Amos does wonder what Errinwright was going to say to him before he passed out. Huh. Guess he’ll never know.

* * *

Sadavir gingerly opens his eyes and light floods in; he closes them almost immediately.

“Sadavir?” Chrisjen. So he’s not dead and that burly man wasn’t an angel. That or Chrisjen and he are both dead and they ended up in the same circle of hell and that burly man was actually a demon.

“Present,” he wheezes.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

Sadavir forces his eyes open and looks at his new surroundings. “Where the hell am I? Are we?”

“We’re on a former MCRN ship. You know it as the _Rocinante_.”

“That ship with those dumb kids?”

“We’re not kids, thank you kindly.” Sadavir turns to see who’s speaking. Jim Holden, still the ship’s captain, he presumes. He’s flanked by the burly man and Bobbie.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize the kids were present.” Sadavir finds himself smirking, which he knows isn’t a good idea, but whatever.

“Sadavir, behave. He is grateful, he just has an odd way of showing it.” Chrisjen smiles, but it’s strained.

“What’s going on out there?” Sadavir points in the vague direction of “out there,” hoping someone knows what he means. Bobbie saves him.

“Turns out Korshunov was good as his word--and one of your Admirals had an itchy trigger finger. Sorrento-Gillis declared war a few days ago.”

“Fucking bobblehead,” Chrisjen murmurs under her breath. But all of the joy is sucked out of her typical insult for Esteban.

The burly man speaks up. “Looks like Mars launched some of its missiles at Earth. They hit their targets.”

Sadavir can feel his mouth going dry. It can’t all be going to hell so quickly. “How long was I out?”

“Weeks, possibly,” Holden says. “You were in that pod for a while before we found you. And it took a while to get you even conscious again. You’re not going to be walking around for good while yet.”

“Earth is under the control of Admiral Nguyễn and the UNN now. Korshunov seized power on Mars.” Chrisjen says this quietly. “Esteban is missing. Apparently, he didn’t do enough in the Admiral’s eyes. Earth and Mars are at war for the long haul, it would seem.”

“You’re forgetting the best part,” a brown-skinned woman coos as she enters the room. “The OPA got control of Mao and the protomolecule. So we’re all triply fucked, now.”

“Naomi,” Holden says, another strain on an already strained voice.

“Sorry. I just thought he should know, since he was in bed with all these assholes.” Naomi glares at Sadavir. He knows he’s earned it, even if he’s not fully processing everything that’s happened.

“What are we going to do about it?” He says finally.

Holden stares at Sadavir incredulously. “Nothing,” he says, before leaving the med-bay.

Sadavir looks at Chrisjen and the others. He’s fully expecting to get spaced at this point.


	3. Mutually Assured Destruction

They do not space Errinwright, at Chrissy’s insistence. Amos really doesn’t know why--the fucker had some hand in the really bad shit that’s gone down, but the Captain’s loyal to Chrissy. Maybe he feels bad for her. Maybe he hopes she’ll help him get back to his family once all this is over.

News reports from Earth aren’t good. Luna’s almost completely gone (and presumably with it, Arjun, Chrissy’s husband--or at least that’s what he overheard). Multiple continents impacted.

The MCRN and UNN fleets are tearing through each other like tissue paper. It’s a war of mutual destruction, as anticipated. The OPA is just...waiting, sneaky bastards. They could take out Earth and Mars in one swipe with the protomolecule, but clearly Fred Johnson is holding back Anderson Dawes and the other, less savory elements of the Belter government.

Hell, maybe Naomi’s girlfriend Drummer is keeping everyone over there from killing the universe. Camina’s got a good head on her shoulders, Amos thinks.

To be fair, he thought most of the universe had good heads on their shoulders. At least enough that they wouldn’t be in a massive inter-system war.

Amos swings by to check on Errinwright every now and then. Prax or Chrissy are usually in there with him. The man seems impossibly sad, now that what he wrought has come forth to bite them all in the ass.

The Captain’s pissy. Naomi’s furious. Alex is nervous and lets loose his energy by sparring with Bobbie (“Gunny,” they have deemed her) or Amos himself. Prax clearly wants to try to find his daughter again, but with all of Mao’s assets being seized by the OPA, no one thinks _that_ ’s a good idea.

Chrissy, though, is the most miserable of them all. If Errinwright blames himself, Chrissy blames herself tenfold. Amos tries to cheer her up with stories of how he learned how to walk in pumps, and she entertains him with small smiles, but she’s clearly hurting. And once Luna got obliterated... _shit_. But Chrissy doesn’t yell or scream or cry. She just fumes and broods. And Amos can respect that.

Errinwright _did_ cry when news came back that Luna was pretty much gone. Amos isn’t really sure if he knew anyone on the moon but Arjun, but he guesses Errinwright must feel like shit for what is, essentially, his fault. Amos cannot emphasize that enough. The _Roci_ crew places the blame in three places: Korshunov, for getting Mars involved with the protomolecule; Errinwright, for getting Earth involved; and Mao for losing his goddamn mind over the dodgy shit to begin with.

When he enters med-bay to check on Errinwright (he realizes this is becoming routine, like checking on a prisoner), he finds the man trying to stand up.

“That’s not a great idea.”

Errinwright turns around and sighs. “Mr. Burton, I think I can stand on my own.”

He tries. He ends up staggering against the crash couch. Amos stifles a cruel laugh.

“Fine,” Errinwright concedes, “Maybe I can’t.”

“I’ll get you some mag boots. And take it slow, you haven’t actually used your legs in a while. You’re like a baby.” Amos grabs a pair of boots and drops them in front of Errinwright. “Kind of cry like one, too.”

Errinwright looks up at him. “What exactly is _your_ problem, Mr. Burton?”

“Too many to count, Errinwright. And you can call me Amos. We’re not big on formalities around here.”

“Well then, I guess you could call me Sadavir. So long as you don’t make any more kindergarten level jokes about my name.”

Amos busts out laughing. “Aw, you remember.”

Amos helps Sadavir into the boots. The man stands, shakily. He looks like he wants to collapse again, but to his credit, he doesn’t. But then he takes his first step, and he stumbles into Amos’s arms. Amos stops his fall. “How do you do this?”

“It’s like walking in pumps.” Amos grins at Sadavir; that line always gets some sort of reaction. The best comedy is based in truth, after all.

Sadavir side-eyes Amos, as if he doesn’t believe that line at all and is kind of regretting every life decision that led to him being held by the burly arms of Amos Burton as he learns to walk again, like a baby deer.

That’s a powerful look, Amos concludes.

* * *

Chrisjen has decided many things in her exile. One, that she desperately wants to go home, to Earth, and never set foot in space again. Two, that she should’ve at least _called_ Arjun before she left for Mao’s ship. Three, that the OPA better not have killed Mao because she _personally_ wants to pull _that_ trigger. Four, that if Amos calls her “Chrissy” one more time to her _face_ she will space the motherfucker.

There are many other things, but those are the most pressing right now. Holden is doing nothing, because of course he is; he’s sick of fighting the entire solar system, and it’s not like most of his passengers are the most popular people in the galaxy right now. Mars would love to execute her and Sadavir, the OPA would love to get their hands on the _Roci_ and Earth would _very_ much like to take out any threats to the coup-ing UN Navy.

Really, they’re all up shit’s creek, and it’s not going to get any better any time soon. Nagata, the surly Belter engineer, seems to have connections in the Belt who would offer them safe haven, but Holden refuses her every time. Bobbie and Alex, the pilot, watch in horror as Mars is hit hard by UN ships. Chrisjen herself had to watch as both Luna and major continents of Earth got blasted.

And Arjun. Poor Arjun. She tries not to think of him, or her grandchildren. She hasn’t cried yet, and she’s not going to in the presence of _any_ of her forced shipmates. Not even Sadavir, who has cried, for some reason. Maybe it’s the pain control medication making him loopy. Jefferson’s probably fine; he lives in New York, and the UNN will defend New York to the very end. California _did_ get hit, so Jodie’s probably gone, but it’s not like there was any love lost there.

No, Chrisjen mostly scowls these days and paces elegantly in her mag boots. Just like walking in pumps. Just like Amos said. He’s a good teacher.

But as she watches Sadavir stumble into the galley on his _own_ mag boots, she has to conclude that maybe Amos is merely an _okay_ teacher. “Do you need help, Sadavir?”

“No,” he says, strained.

“Really? Because you look like you’re about to fall down.”

“Chrisjen...I mean this in the kindest of manners...fuck off.” They’re all getting grumpy. The _Roci_ , in its holding pattern near an asteroid, can probably last a few more months before needing to find a safe port. Chrisjen doesn’t think _any_ of this is going to blow over in a few months, so Holden will have to give into one of Nagata’s options eventually.

Sadavir continues to make his way awkwardly to the coffee maker. “We’re out of coffee,” she says, looking at her cup of tea. “Sorry. Tea?”

“I hate tea.”

“I know.” She smiles sweetly.

Sadavir grunts as he sits down on one of the stools across from her. The blood transfusions helped, but he still looks paler than usual, and he’s getting gaunt. The bullets are still inside him, but he’s taking regular injections to stave off whatever hell they’re wreaking. But Chrisjen’s not entirely convinced they’re working.

“Are you...doing alright?” Chrisjen means this sincerely, but Sadavir looks irritated by the very posing of the question.

“Am I doing alright? Well, let’s see, Chrisjen. I’m surrounded by a bunch of people who would love nothing more than to see me dead, present company excepted, I still hope. I’ve got bullets stuck in my gut, with no hopes of getting them out any time soon, because this raggedly little crew couldn’t bother to pick up a goddamned doctor along the way. My home’s getting blasted to bits, and our captain just wants to sit on his hands and wait this war out. Oh, and Burton’s flirting with me.”

“Wait, what? Repeat that last part.” Chrisjen almost feels a full-on laughing fit coming on because what Sadavir just said is totally ridiculous.

“He has a pet name for me--”

“He has a pet name for me, too--”

“I’m not used to ship’s mechanics having pet names for me. Or used to getting winked at every time Nagata tears me a new one--”

“I think he has a tic--”

“I don’t care if he and the botanist are on a break--”

Chrisjen can’t help it; she starts laughing, _hard_. Then, she’s coughing. She stops to catch her breath, before bursting into laughter again. “Fucking hell, Sadavir.”

“I wasn’t joking. Even if it’s good to see one of us express an emotion that isn’t rage or despair. He literally helps me walk to wherever I’m going when he sees me stumbling around like an idiot. Chrisjen, he’s threatened to carry me around everywhere, he’s so sick of it.”

“Did you take his advice? About the pumps?” Chrisjen starts laughing again, and she finds herself starting to cry, she’s laughing so hard.

“I don’t even know what he means! I’ve never tried to walk around in pumps.”

“Yes, you are very secure,” and she catches her breath before this next part, “in your masculinity.” And she can’t help it, she is full-on sobbing now, partly with grief, partly with rage, partly with joy. It’s very confusing.

“Chrisjen, are you okay? Chrisjen?” Sadavir reaches out and squeezes one of her hands. But Chrisjen can’t stop months of pent-up emotions now. She just starts shaking, with laughter, with sobs, with rage, and Sadavir comes around to her side of the table and awkwardly...hugs her?

The two were usually not that affectionate. And he’s so goddamn awkward about it, she can’t help but laugh _harder_. She huffs out: “This is not healthy, is it?”

“I’m not sure. Not a doctor.”

“You’re not a block of wood, either, so why does it feel like I’m hugging one?”

Sadavir clearly tries at being softer. It works. Chrisjen holds on for dear life. Eventually, she stops shaking. But the two don’t break away from each other. Chrisjen buries her head in his chest.

She’s muffled, but still somewhat clear: “I’ll talk to Amos about backing down. He seems to listen to me.”

Sadavir chuckles. “I mean, I don’t _mind_. It makes day-to-day life more interesting than it would be otherwise.”

“I’ll tell him to step up his efforts, then.”

A gentle laugh. “Okay.”

* * *

The makeshift crew of the _Roci_ stands around the command table as Naomi presents their options. Holden watches her, carefully. They haven’t slept together in weeks, and he’s not sure whose fault that is. They’re all tense as hell, possibly about to explode into something...dangerous. He doesn’t know. He’s not exactly great at controlling fever-pitch situations.

He’s pretty sure he’s proved that by now.

“We have to dock somewhere eventually. Camina has promised us safe passage and a safe haven at Tycho Station. Fred and Anderson Dawes are off...somewhere, with Mao, leaving Camina to her own devices. She has no bone in this fight, she just wants to protect the people of the Belt.”

“You’re sure of that?” Alex asks, wearily.

“Yeah, how can you be sure she won’t turn us in at the first sign of trouble?” Bobbie backs up her Martian buddy. Because of course she does.

Jesus, Holden’s letting _himself_ get caught up in sectarian battles. _Good going, kid_. Miller’s voice, in his head. He’s been hearing it more frequently, ever since the ships over Venus went completely dark. He wonders what that’s about. He should run a neurological scan at some point.

Amos jumps to Naomi’s defense: “If she trusts Camina, I trust Camina. She’s good people, guys.”

Bobbie backs off. Alex just shrugs. Holden wonders if they’re all so fucking tired of being stuck on this ship they’d willingly walk into a bad situation just to go somewhere new.

Chrisjen looks at the digital model of Tycho warily. “Holden, you’re being awfully quiet.” Errinwright, ever her enforcer, looks at Holden pointedly.

“I trust her. I don’t know if I trust Dawes not to show up suddenly and blast us to hell, but I doubt Camina would know it was coming.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Naomi sounds like she’s about to fight. _Oh shit_ , he thinks to himself. That _is_ in his inner voice.

“I mean she wouldn’t be behind it. She’s not stupid, I didn’t mean that, okay?” Holden puts his hands in the air. _I’m innocent, I’m innocent, I want off this tin can as much as you all do_. He wants to shout that last part, but wisely keeps it to himself.

Prax speaks up. “I vote we go.”

Holden nearly loses it on the quiet-voiced botanist, because how many times has he gone over this, guests don’t get a vote. Because that would mean giving Errinwright a voice on his ship, and he’ll be damned if he--no. _Stay in control, kid_. Miller again. “We’re not voting, Prax.” That’s all he says.

Amos looks a little insulted on behalf of Prax, and Holden knows they’re close, maybe closer than he’d like to know, but he really hopes Amos keeps his shit on lock until they get to Tycho.

Amos says nothing.

“So, plot a course to Tycho, Hoss?” Alex looks at Holden, hopefully.

“Do it.” 


	4. Safe Haven

Ah, Camina Drummer, ice queen of Tycho and eye makeup. Amos loves this woman. Even if she is lecturing the entirety of the _Roci_ crew on what they _can_ and absolutely under any circumstances _cannot_ do while on Tycho. And she’s giving them a time limit too--enough time to refuel and supply their ship, do any necessary repairs and get any medical treatment they need. That’s all she’s giving them. _All of them_ , she notes, although she gives Naomi a... weird look when she says that.

Amos gets the feeling that Naomi might be sticking with Camina from here on out, and he’s not sure he likes that. Not because he doesn’t like Naomi with Camina, but because he is in no way as good an engineer as Naomi, and because the captain needs Naomi at least some of the time.

“Amos,” Camina says, stopping him before he can leave to his quarters on Tycho with the others. “Who is that _tumang_? The tall one.”

“What? Sadavir? He’s a friend of Chrissy’s. I guess. They might be more than friends, you get what I’m saying--”

Camina’s ice-cold stare stops him from going any further. “What’s Sadavir’s _last_ name, _beratna_?”

“Errinwright. He used to work for the UN as her boss or something.”

“Interesting.”

“Why are you asking me? Why not just talk to Naomi?”

Camina gives a weird grin. “Oh, I will. But not yet.”

Camina dismisses him. Prax is waiting for him, looking worried. “In trouble?”

“Naw, Camina just wanted some info. I gave it to her.”

“Oh. She seems very intimidating.”

“She’s scary but she’s nice once you get to know her. It’s mostly her makeup. And her smile. And her demeanor. I guess she is scary.”

Prax just nods. Amos pats Prax on the arm, but Prax doesn’t reciprocate. The two are on a break, in many senses of the word, but Amos is sure Prax’ll open back up eventually. He’s just worried about Mei, because of course he is. He’s a good dad, and they’ll find her once this hell is over.

Amos finds himself nursing a drink at a seedy bar, somewhere in the underbelly of Tycho. He’s fairly certain Camina told them all to stay out of the more hardcore-OPA sections of the station, but Amos also doesn’t find himself fairly recognizable. He hasn’t shaved in months, although he has showered. Naomi begged him to do that, at least. She also begged him to get rid of the beard, and Holden agreed, but they’re not his parents.

Alex and Bobbie are off somewhere commiserating, he figures, toasting to what’s left of their home. They’re allowed some sorrow. The two are pals, like brother and sister.

Whatever tension’s been flowing through the _Roci_ in recent months, those two haven’t inflicted it upon each other. But Bobbie _has_ been wanting to punch Sadavir. To be fair, Naomi wants to punch Sadavir. Holden wants to punch Sadavir. Alex wants to punch Sadavir. Prax, if not for his gentle nature, would want to punch Sadavir.

Amos does not want to punch Sadavir, or “Errinwrong” as he called him for a few months before Chrissy told him to stop. For one, it wouldn’t be fair, although once Sadavir got out of surgery and healed up, it _might_ be a fair fight.

Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be. Sadavir’s pushing 55. Good looking 55, but still.

Those Earth politicians, they must keep them in bubbles...because Chrissy is a _damn_ good 70.

The tension wasn’t _all_ them wanting to punch Sadavir. Some of it was heated in other ways. Here’s how Amos had figured it. The captain wants to fuck Naomi, but Naomi wants to fuck him and Camina...separately. Alex wants to fuck his ex-wife (he always does). Bobbie wants to fuck Chrissy. Prax wants to fuck Amos but is too distracted by being a good dad. Amos wants to fuck Prax but is too busy being a good friend. Amos also wants to fuck Chrissy, but in a weird way, like they’d both hate it and then go back to their witty repartee, like nothing ever happened.

And Chrissy wants to fuck her husband, who is now dead. And now that she’s somewhat over his death, she wants to fuck Sadavir. And as far as Amos can figure, Sadavir has wanted to fuck Chrissy for a long time.

And Amos wouldn’t mind attempting to fuck Sadavir. (He says “attempt” because their relationship is fraught with peril, with Amos seriously threatening to space Sadavir that one time. They don’t talk about that time.)

So yeah, they’ve all been dancing around each other on the ship, between the mutual hatred and mutual passion, and it’s mostly just funny to Amos, like most human interactions are.

Now that they’re all on Tycho, they’ll all spread out, and maybe ( _maybe_ ) once they get back to the ship, they’ll all figure out what the hell to do about their weird clusterfuck of a crew.

Amos decides to find Holden. He’s always good for a laugh around this time. Naomi’s probably with Camina in her quarters, and Holden knows it. So, Holden’s miserable.

Holden’s funny when he’s miserable.

* * *

The first place Chrisjen and Sadavir go when Drummer dismisses the crew is to the Tycho’s proper med-bay. They’re finally going to get Sadavir the surgery he needs, and Chrisjen needs a proper neurological work-up after her trip on the _Razorback_.

“God, we’re old,” Chrisjen remarks as they wait for their respective treatments. “All the kids are going off to get drunk or fucked, and we’re wobbling into the med-bay to get all put back together again.”

“I mean, we could still get drunk or...” Sadavir just hums nervously, not repeating the last part.

“Have I ever told you you’re a pussy, Sadavir?”

“Not in so many words.”

A medic calls for Sadavir and he goes. “Good luck,” Chrisjen says. It feels trite, but she assumes he’ll pull through fine. He’s been alive this long.

A nurse comes for Chrisjen next. Her head’s fine, it turns out. Whatever the _Roci_ crew did to her prevented any further damage, so she’s free to go. Keeping in mind Drummer’s instructions, she keeps to the upper levels of the station. She watches people mill about for a while, but quickly grows bored. She could go grab a drink, but she’s never liked drinking alone.

Chrisjen stops by the med-bay to see how Sadavir is doing. The surgery went fine, she’s told. He’ll be out for the night. She’s on her own.

She’s tempted to go find a _Roci_ crew member, as they’re all she really knows on this station mostly full of Belters, but she figures she should give them their space.

No one seems to recognize her, but she is in a jumpsuit that Amos, with a surprising amount of tailoring skills, made for her. Well, he didn’t _make_ the jumpsuit, but he made it fit her. She’s a far cry from one of her elegant outfits and all her jewelry. Her hair is just up in a simple bun. Chrisjen wonders if she could do something with it. She’s never really _done_ anything with her hair, other than style it in various ways. Barely cut it, never dyed it (never had to), mostly just braided it.

But she looks at all the unique Belter hairstyles, and she’s a little jealous. Besides, her hair is going a little silver these days. Not that she minds looking older, but she doesn’t _look_ 70-something (as Amos is wont to remind her). So she walks into a salon, points to a picture in a book, hands over a few credits and listens to the Belters chatter in their Creole as a friendly, lanky woman with surprisingly few tattoos for a Belter does her hair.

Chrisjen has to admit afterward that she feels lighter. She wonders what Bobbie will think. Maybe she can get Bobbie to change her own style. (Probably not, knowing the stoic marine.) Maybe she and Nagata can bond over their mutually interesting hair. (Probably not, because Nagata hates her guts. She’s not fond of Nagata’s either, to be fair.)

Well, she’ll give the boys a shock, she supposes. Chrisjen sets after Amos, who will probably be the most interested in the new look.

She finds him, knocking on Holden’s door. (Holden isn’t answering.) Amos is clearly tipsy, but when he sees her, he’s friendly as always.

“Chrissy! Love the hair.”

“Thank you. Felt like time for a change.”

“Good idea. I’m trying to find Holden, but he won’t answer his door.”

“Maybe he’s not home.”

“Nah, Naomi’s with Camina, he’s home.” Chrisjen isn’t really shocked by that new information. Drummer practically winked at Nagata about every other sentence during the briefing. Amos leans into the door, listening.

“Maybe he’s asleep, poor boy. He’s been through a lot.”

“No... he’s...talking to himself?”

“What?”

Amos pulls her over. “C’mon, listen.”

Chrisjen does so, Amos’s arm still wrapped around her shoulder. Holden is yelling at...something. Someone? She distinctly hears the name “Miller” repeated several times. Joe Miller? The detective with the funny hat, the so-called savior of Eros? “But he’s dead,” she says aloud.

“You heard it too.”

“Maybe we should leave him be, for now.” Chrisjen backs away from Holden’s door. She looks at Amos, not really expecting anything from the large man.

To her surprise, Amos leans over and kisses her on the cheek. Not a gesture she expected from him. “I like the new look, Chrissy.”

“Thank you, Amos.”

Amos offers her his arm, and the two roam the halls, just talking. “How’s Sadavir?”

“They said the surgery went fine. I guess we’ll know tomorrow. How’s Prax?”

“I’m...ah...letting him be, for now. He’s really worried about Mei.”

“I hope you all find her.”

“Well, you’ll probably be with us too.” Amos doesn’t sound hopeful; he sounds like that’s a fact. Chrisjen stops walking.

“I don’t plan on staying on the _Roci_ forever.”

“But where else are you gonna go?”

“The war will end eventually. I do have a planet I have to get back to.”

“But will they want you back?” Amos’s matter of fact tone only makes the question hit harder. She doesn’t know the answer to that question.

“Let’s...talk about something else.” She pats him on the arm, and they continue down the hall.

* * *

Sadavir wakes up for the first time in months not feeling soreness in his mid-region. Oh, there’s a little tenderness, but not the feeling of something lodged inside him. He also feels like he could walk normally again--not turn cartwheels, but certainly not stumble around anymore.

Chrisjen (and Amos) are waiting for him when he’s discharged. Amos looks the same as ever. Chrisjen looks...

Well, stunning. She’s always stunning, but she’s done something to her hair. It’s no longer long and dark (well, silver, recently) and piled on top of her head; it’s cut to her shoulders, with a reddish tint. She looks like she did when he first met her, when they were young and...well.

“Aren’t you both a sight for sore eyes,” he says, hugging Chrisjen and merely acknowledging Amos.

“You look better,” Chrisjen says with a wide smile.

“Yeah, not nearly as haggard,” Amos smirks in Sadavir’s general direction.

Sadavir chooses to ignore Amos. “You, ah, changed your hair.”

Chrisjen flashes a smile at Amos. “See, I told you he’d notice. Pay up, Burton.”

Amos hands Chrisjen some credits.

Chrisjen turns to Sadavir. “What do you want to do with his credits?”

“We could get your hair done,” Amos says with a completely straight face. Sadavir resists the urge to make a face at him.

“I could eat?” He guesses. Maybe he could sleep. Or drink. Just not turn cartwheels.

Chrisjen and Amos nod and walk out with him, Chrisjen on his arm, Amos right behind.

The three find a little corner spot that offers _some_ Earther specialties (Chrisjen and Sadavir still both can’t quite stomach Belter food).

Amos pokes a french fry in Sadavir’s direction. “What?” Amos would be irritating if his antics weren’t slowly getting charming.

“You should grow a beard.”

“Nope.”

“Why not? Captain’s got a beard. Alex has a beard. I have a beard. Prax doesn’t have one, but we’re working on that.”

“I’m not...growing a beard, Amos.”

“Chrissy, chime in, back me up here.”

Chrisjen just shakes her head. “I’m not engaging in this.”

“You’re in space now, you need a beard. Fred Johnson’s got a beard. Anderson Dawes has a beard.”

Sadavir is finding this line of thinking all slightly ridiculous. “Yes, because I should adopt the style choices of the OPA leadership.”

“If the two of you ever get back to Earth, you’d make quite a splash!”

Sadavir’s face falls a little. He doesn’t even know if he _can_ go back to Earth, considering his past, and Amos is acting like it’s probably out of the question that there’ll even be an Earth for them to try to go back to. He exchanges a glance with Chrisjen. It’s a sad, knowing glance, of two Earthers who are getting sick of floating around in tin cans.

Amos leaves them after they’re done eating. Sadavir and Chrisjen find a spot to sit and people watch.

“God, I’m getting sick of this,” Chrisjen finally growls.

“Do you remember when we’d do this at the UN? In real gravity? On Earth? At home?”

“We were much younger then. Had time to people watch....we didn’t know how good we had it.” If Chrisjen smoked, she’d probably take a heavy drag just then. Sadavir’s a little amused by the mental image.

“I miss home,” Sadavir says simply.

“Whatever ‘home’ is anymore.”

“It’ll be different. But we’ll manage.”

“But will we ever get to go back to what is _actually_ home, Sadavir?” Chrisjen’s voice sounds tight now.

Sadavir swallows hard. “I don’t know. Maybe not for a long time.”

“We’re fucking exiles now. Fucking war. Fucking Mao. Fucking...bobblehead.” Chrisjen smiles wryly at that last one.

“Don’t speak of the dead.” She smacks him on the arm for that.

“We don’t know that he’s dead! Maybe he’s off feeding his llamas or something.”

“On a farm upstate?”

Chrisjen snorts. “Good to know your life and death experience is really making you more considerate.”

“ _Our_ life and death experience, Chrisjen.”

The two walk around some more. He broaches a question he’s had for some time, but it was never the right time to ask.

“What happened to Ghazi?”

“We don’t know. The _Roci_ didn’t find his body in the debris, and someone clearly stuck you in that suit and in that pod. There was no chatter about a prisoner, according to Mr. Kamal. Maybe they’re just keeping it on the down-low, but...I just assumed he was dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Cotyar knew the risks of working for me, and he always wanted to do something for the greater good. I’m not sure he expected saving you to be a part of that, but...” Chrisjen trails off, lost in thought.

Sadavir lets her think. The artificial daylight is hitting her new reddish hair just so, and she looks rather like the sun. If the sun was a pint-sized woman with a fouler mouth than most sailors. Chrisjen takes his hand.

“Do you want to...go somewhere? Quieter?” Chrisjen is looking up at him, a tricky smile crossing her face.

Sadavir smiles. “Your quarters or mine?”

* * *

Chrisjen is silly drunk at this point. Sadavir is merely drunk. The two of them haven’t had alcohol in a while; it wasn’t exactly open season on the _Roci_. Chrisjen looks Sadavir in the eye, then looks away almost coyly. If Arjun was here...

_No_. Arjun isn’t here. Arjun is gone. Dead and gone. He’d want her to enjoy herself. With Sadavir, maybe not, but what other options does she have? Amos, she supposes. Bobbie, if Bobbie were braver. But she gets the feeling with Amos that it would be disastrous and that the time will come with Bobbie at some point.

Right now, Sadavir’s here. His formerly dark red hair has gone silver, and he’s sporting an equally silvery patchy sort-of beard. Actually, he _does_ kind of have a beard, so she’s not sure what Amos was going on about. Well, it’s not Amos’s lumberjack beard, but who wants that?

A little bit of color has come back into Sadavir’s face, but whether that’s the alcohol or just better health she can’t say. His blue, reflective eyes, stare into his empty glass, incredulously. “Was that all the booze we had?”

“I’m afraid so. And I think Drummer probably wouldn’t want us to have any more.”

“She scares me.”

“Oh, like I scare you?” Chrisjen feels like winking, but just outright blinks. She really is a little too drunk.

“I mean...not _exactly_ like you scare me. You’re a good scary. She’s a rip-your-throat-out-with-her-teeth kind-of scary.”

“Apparently Nagata likes that.”

Sadavir’s eyes widen like when he was just a kid. “No, really?”

“God, you’re dense.” Chrisjen drains what’s left of her glass and stands to go place it in the sink.

“I just thought she and Holden were on a break.” Sadavir’s innocence makes her snort-laugh, which causes the alcohol to go into her nose, and oh, it burns.

“Jesus Christ, Sadavir.” She holds onto the bridge of her nose. The burning stops. She doesn’t realize that he’s immediately by her side.

“You alright?”

“Just some alcohol in the nose--”

“Ah yes, the customary alcohol in the nose--”

“Shut up. Give me your glass. No need to make a mess.” She takes their glasses and moves somewhat less gracefully over to the sink, setting them down.

Chrisjen turns around to find Sadavir in front of her. He looks down at her a little hazily. She looks at _him_ a little hazily.

“Do you want to...?”

“God, yes.” Chrisjen doesn’t even start the usual initial kissing, she just begins to get out of her jumpsuit.

“I just want to say, this is not how I imagined this happening.”

“This is a really shitty time to get contemplative. Get undressed, idiot.”

He obeys her. She looks at him undressed for the first time outside of a medical context, and she has to admit it is...not unpleasant. She’s drunk, though, so something stupid sounding pops out. “You’re freckly.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve got freckles.”

“What?”

“Freckles. You have them.” Chrisjen’s running out of ways to say the same thing.

“Yes...?” Sadavir looks baffled.

“They’re cute.”

“Thank you?”

“Take the compliment. Your freckles are cute.”

“It’s just that when you use the word ‘cute’, I feel infantilized--”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Chrisjen pulls him down to her level, and they finally kiss. He breaks away to kiss her neck, and she wants to protest, but he only has one pair of lips, she supposes. She returns the favor by kissing him one of his sharp collarbones, leaving a mark behind. He starts a little at that.

They fall into the bed, which is much more comfortable than just standing there making out like a couple of teenagers. Chrisjen gets on top, because how would it be any other way? She mentally snorts at the alternatives.

And they _finally_ do what they probably should’ve done years ago.

Afterward, they lie next to each other, staring at the ceiling. Chrisjen breaks the silence. “You’re not half bad.”

“Not to end all my thank you’s with question marks, but--”

“I was a happily married woman for many years. Take the fucking compliment.”

“Thank you. You’re quite brilliant.”

“I’m what?” She turns to look at him incredulously.

“That sounded weird.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Maybe we should just...enjoy the moment?”

They don’t get a chance to do that. Both of their hand terminals ring. Chrisjen growls. “Holden for me.”

“Oddly...Drummer.”

Chrisjen answers hers with the video off. “What’s going on, Holden?”

“Turn on your newsfeed or find one, ma’am.”

Chrisjen swipes to find her newsfeed. “What the fuck?”


	5. Abaddon's Gate

The _Roci_ crew sits around a table in a conference room, with Drummer pointing out the seemingly insane thing that has just happened. Holden can’t quite believe it. Whatever was left of Eros on Venus leapt off the planet and formed some kind of...ring?

Miller is at a fever pitch in his head, but he’s yelling nonsense. The doctors can’t figure it out, even with what little Holden has told them.

“Do we think whatever Mao and the OPA’s doing triggered this, somehow?” Prax looks worried. Mei can’t be far from his mind, no doubt.

Drummer frowns...which isn’t much of a difference from her usual face, Holden reflects. “I don’t know. Fred hasn’t been in communication with me for days. There’s been no intelligence on Dawes’s movements. And Mao is just...a black hole, communications-wise.”

“Sounds like a job for the _Roci_ and her crew,” Alex says this almost eagerly, and Holden wants to “aw, buddy” him, because there is no fucking way he is going near that thing. Not with Miller screaming nonsense in his head.

“Yeah, because Earth and Mars’ll let us get near it,” Naomi says sardonically.

“It’s worth a try,” Bobbie says earnestly.

“Maybe the war’ll slow down, or even stop--” Alex is sounding _too_ hopeful, Holden thinks.

“They’ll probably just try and destroy it,” Amos says simply. Alex glares at Amos. Amos just shrugs. “It’s what I’d do. If I were them.”

Holden clears his throat. “Well, we don’t have to speculate about what Earth leadership _would_ do--” and he turns to Chrisjen and Errinwright (as much as he would like to exclude Errinwright from this narrative).

Chrisjen leaps into action: “Amos is correct. If the UNN is still in control of Earth, they will most likely try to destroy it. Do we, by the way, know who is in control of Earth these days?”

Drummer grimly smiles. “I’m afraid it is still the UNN, Avasarala.”

Errinwright doesn’t say anything. Holden wishes he would. He’d been the closest to this stuff. Well, the development of it, anyhow.

The development of it. Holden looks at Prax. Then at Errinwright. Then back at Prax. And then: “We’re not going to the Ring. We’re going to Mao.”

“What? How?” Naomi looks baffled.

“Are you listening, Holden? I don’t know where Mao is.” Drummer says this through gritted teeth.

“We’ll find him. Patron saints of lost causes, right?” Holden looks around the table for support.

The only one who looks remotely helpful is...Errinwright. _Great_. _Just great_.

“He’s right. Mao is the key to all of this. He’s got all the protomolecule’s secrets. Things he kept from both Korshunov and me.”

Amos shrugs. “I like a good scoop and dump.”

“We’re not going to space Mao, Amos.” Holden is getting weary around Amos these days.

Chrisjen smiles darkly. “Could we after we’re done with him, though?”

Bobbie sighs. “I’ll go wherever you go, ma’am. Even if this feels like a bad idea.”

Prax looks almost serene. “Mei’s got to be near him or with him.”

Naomi scoffs. Alex drums his fingers on the table before nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

Drummer smiles. “Well, if you’re all so gung-ho--you will have all the resources of Tycho Station behind you. Without the OPA knowing, of course. Anything to bring Dawes down is fine by me.”

The meeting ends. Naomi stops Holden before he leaves with the others. “I’m...staying here. I’m not going with you.”

“Huh?”

“Look, this is where I get off. Me on the _Roci_ was never going to be a permanent solution. I’ve got to forge my own path. I can do that here.”

“With Drummer.”

Naomi nods. “With Camina. Yes.”

Holden feels like his world is ending for the _nth_ time in just a couple of years, but he keeps his cool. Tries to. “Well...have a good time?”

Naomi smiles softly at him before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “This isn’t goodbye, Jim. Just...see you later.”

Holden doesn’t know if that’s true, but he decides to trust her. He returns the kiss on the cheek with a kiss on her lips. “I love you, Naomi Nagata.”

“And I love you, Jim Holden.”

* * *

“You let her go?” Chrisjen follows Holden on his way to reclaim the _Roci_. She can’t believe it; she knows Nagata and Holden had their problems, but...

“She has her own path. Without me, for the time being.”

“Without us, too, apparently.”

“Aw, c’mon, ma’am, it’s not like the two of you ever saw eye to eye.”

“Fine, we didn’t. But you shouldn’t let a good thing get away.”

“I’m letting her live her own life. That’s a noble thing.”

“God, there’s a fucking reason you named your ship after Don Quixote’s horse.”

Chrisjen boards the _Roci_ , finding Amos in the armory, checking the weapons and their ammo supply. “All good?”

Amos smiles slyly at Chrisjen. “Yeah. All good.”

“What’s the face for?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, don’t leave your face that way or it’ll stay stuck in that loopy expression permanently.”

Chrisjen’s a little unnerved by that encounter. What could that have been-- _oh, shit_. Amos knows. Well, so what if he knows? Two consenting adults had a long coming sexual encounter. Big whoop. Just because Holden’s not getting any for a while doesn’t mean his entire crew has to become Puritans.

Chrisjen finds Sadavir in the galley, happily brewing a cup of coffee; Drummer re-supplied them, although Chrisjen gets the feeling it was more for Holden’s sake than Sadavir’s.

“Amos knows. Somehow.” Chrisjen looks down at her hands.

Sadavir turns, a little incredulous. “How?”

“Good instincts? I don’t fucking know. He’s a strange one. Maybe he guessed.”

“Well, if he knows, Alex will know eventually. Holden will know. So will Bobbie. Prax’ll figure it out eventually.” Sadavir lets out a long sigh, sips his coffee and makes a face. “That is...awful.”

“Guess you’ll be sticking to tea.” Sadavir just glares at the cup first, then the coffee maker, in response. “Maybe we should just tell them. For good measure. No rumors, no gossip, no secrets.”

Before Sadavir can answer, they hear an angry roar that sounds distinctly like Amos.

They find Amos down below with a hold on a petite Asian woman in a Tycho Station jumpsuit. Chrisjen doesn’t recognize her, but Sadavir does. “Clarissa?” He looks utterly baffled.

“Wait, who is she?” Amos takes a hard look at the woman. “Whoever she is, she was fucking with the transponder.”

“What the hell is going on?” Holden’s there, and he looks as equally angry as he is curious.

“She was fucking with the transponder, Captain. Sadavir says her name is Clarissa.” Amos just nods to Sadavir.

Chrisjen looks at Sadavir, confusion etched across her face. How does he know this woman?

Sadavir looks stony. “Her family name is Mao. She’s Jules-Pierre’s eldest daughter.”

* * *

Clarissa paces in the brig, cursing herself for her lack of caution. Of course the _Roci_ ’s burly enforcer would be on the lookout for any sign of trouble. And _of course_ Errinwright was somehow still alive and would immediately recognize her. The two had met on a few occasions back on Earth, when Errinwright was still assisting her father. Julie wouldn’t have gotten caught so easily.

Well, maybe she would have. But she would’ve put up more of a fight. Clarissa didn’t even get the chance to activate the adrenaline implant. But somehow, she doubts she would’ve been able to take down Amos Burton.

Burton is keeping a close eye on her. He’s questioned her, but she said very little. The _Roci_ ’s captain, Holden, is very much anti-torture, so at least she’s saved from that. If she’s honest, she has no real grudge against the _Roci_ crew; she really just wanted to use them to bait Dawes and get to her father. Their penchant for purposely getting themselves into trouble was what made the _Rocinante_ and its crew so tempting.

Clarissa had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to find wherever Dawes had stashed her father, but she was expecting it to come through a slip up on Drummer’s end, not courtesy of the protomolecule-infected remains of Eros leaping into space. No, Clarissa learned fairly quickly that Camina Drummer did not slip up. Drummer had almost figured out Clarissa’s identity, but Clarissa had lived fairly anonymously as Melba Koh on Tycho for a while now. Ever since Avasarala (who, to her shock, is also alive) and Errinwright placed sanctions not just on her father, but her entire fucking family.

So, Clarissa has two missions once she figures a way out of the brig; one, find a way to use the _Roci_ as bait, and two, kill Avasarala and Errinwright.

Of course, finding her way out of the brig is going to be a... problem.

Burton is smirking at her. “You look like you’re plotting something.”

“Always,” Clarissa retorts.

“You’re clever for a Mao, I’ll give you that.”

“You don’t think my sister was clever?”

“Oh, she was clever, but she got herself killed fairly easily. You, on the other hand, have survived for nearly a year in total anonymity, according to Drummer.”

“Belters think all Earth girls look alike.”

“I don’t think that.”

“You’re a little too bulky to be a Belter, Burton.” She scowls. Where is this conversation going?

“True. I’m as much an Earther as you are.”

“Figured,” Clarissa grunts out her response. She _really_ does not feel like making small talk.

That Martian marine she got a brief introduction to (when the marine and Amos forced her into the brig) enters. She just nods at Amos, who leaves, tossing a smile over his shoulder at Clarissa. His relief, Clarissa guesses.

The Martian woman says nothing. She is completely stony-faced, in sharp contrast to Amos. Clarissa wonders if she could take _her_. No, Clarissa realizes; the woman is much, much taller than she is, and almost as bulky as Amos. Even with the adrenaline, it wouldn’t be a good idea. She could take Holden, skinny twat. Or their pilot, Alex. She could _definitely_ take out Avasarala or Errinwright with one swing on the adrenaline.

Clarissa doesn’t think she’s going to get that chance any time soon, though.

* * *

Sadavir and Chrisjen are in bed, officially sharing a bunk. They haven’t told anyone, because everyone already knows. Chrisjen is sound asleep; Sadavir is wide awake. He’s too unnerved by Clarissa’s presence to rest. He wants to talk to her; she’s the last connection they have to Mao, but they’ve locked her away in the brig, and Holden doesn’t want anyone talking to her about their mission.

But Clarissa’s clever, Sadavir knows. She probably already knows all about their mission. Drummer didn’t have any intel about what Clarissa had been up to on Tycho, but he suspects Clarissa’s been waiting for the opportunity to find her father. Clarissa was always the loyal daughter.

Sadavir kisses Chrisjen on the forehead, before extricating himself from her hold. She murmurs a little, but doesn’t wake up. He makes his way down to the brig. He passes Holden’s quarters; he can hear the _Roci’_ s captain talking to himself. Poor kid. Chrisjen told Sadavir that Holden has been talking to Joe Miller. Sadavir doesn’t think he’s supposed to know that, so he keeps his mouth shut.

In the brig, he finds Clarissa handcuffed to the wall, with Prax standing guard. He’s holding a gun, which surprises Sadavir. He never took Prax for the weapon type. “Hey,” he says to Prax. He’s never gotten to know the mild-mannered botanist, and Prax has never offered to let him get to know him.

“Hello,” Prax says, nervously.

“Take a break,” Sadavir says, casually.

“I...don’t think that’s a good idea. Amos told me--”

“Just...take a break, Prax.”

Prax considers this and nods, holding out his firearm. “I need to use the head anyhow. Take it.”

Sadavir does so, although he has no intention of holding onto it. Prax leaves in a hurry. Sadavir turns to Clarissa, who’s fuming in the corner. Sadavir puts down the gun. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she spits out. She starts making some weird...clicking sound with her mouth. “You might wanna pick that up,” she says, indicating the gun. “I get the feeling you’ll need it.”

Part of Clarissa’s face begins to glow, and Sadavir starts to call for Prax, but Clarissa’s already broken free, and in an instant, has her hands around his neck. It feels like she’s trying to crush it. Not strangle him, crush him. He tries to force her off of him, but whatever she did seems to have given her strength he wouldn’t suspect the petite woman to have.

Sadavir, though, is a lucky man. Just as he’s about to lose consciousness, he hears Amos's characteristic roar behind him, and he's there, flinging Clarissa off of him. Amos has one of his massive hands wrapped around Clarissa’s throat, and she’s gasping for air.

“Amos, stop!” Sadavir gasps, but it comes out like a whisper. If Amos heard him, he doesn’t care. Clarissa’s eyes go blank and she slumps. “Amos,” Sadavir says as best he can, “Let her go!”

Prax enters the room, hearing the racket. “Amos!” He yells. The mild-mannered botanist’s fury seems to trigger something in Amos. He releases his hold on Clarissa, and she falls to the ground. Amos turns on Prax.

“What were you thinking, leaving him with her?”

“I thought he’d be fine--”

“I would’ve been, if it wasn’t for...whatever she took,” Sadavir rasps, feeling his neck. It’s not just tender to the touch, it’s already bruised.

Amos kneels down next to the unconscious Clarissa, opening her mouth. He feels around inside of it and finds what he’s looking for. “She’s got a fucking adrenaline implant.”

“See, this isn’t Prax’s fault, none of us could’ve known--”

“Yeah, but if you had just stayed the fuck away, _and_ Prax had followed orders, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” Amos is in Sadavir’s face, and Sadavir hasn’t seen the bigger man this mad in a while. Amos doesn’t do anything to him, although Sadavir can tell he wants to. “Go to the med-bay. Prax, fix him up. I’m right behind him.”

With that, Amos turns and picks Clarissa up, throwing her over his shoulder like he would a rag.

Once in the med-bay, Sadavir turns, with some effort, to look at Clarissa. Amos removed her implant; she isn’t a threat anymore. He’s also put a chemical restraint on her. And she’ll be out for a while. Holden comes down and decides to confine her to quarters, once she wakes up. _If she wakes up_ , Sadavir wants to say, but he bites his tongue. Chrisjen enters in a rush, hair askew.

“Are you alright?” She looks concerned. At least someone is.

“I’ll be fine,” he croaks out. He looks askance at Amos, who’s fuming in the corner. Amos notices Sadavir looking at him and comes over.

“We really need to teach you how to survive a fight,” he grunts, before leaving.

“He’s not wrong,” Chrisjen admits with a shrug.

“She would’ve snapped you like a twig,” Sadavir says.

“Maybe we both need to learn how to fight.”

* * *

Bobbie watches with amusement as Errinwright attempts to spar with Amos; Amos pins the older man every single time. While Errinwright has come a long way from spending their _UN Two_ trip curled up in his bunk, he’s still rotten in a fight. Bobbie’s gotten Alex back into shape, but Alex is a former MCRN soldier. Errinwright’s a pampered Earth diplomat who is finally getting the hang of walking around in mag boots.

And Amos is a tower of muscle almost equal to Bobbie in strength. _Almost_. Amos has ordered Bobbie to teach Chrisjen basic self-defense, and the small, older woman is surprisingly nimble on her feet. Bobbie’s always admired Chrisjen, but she’s never felt prouder of anyone than when Chrisjen got the upper hand on Bobbie during one of their fights. Amos nodded with approval, before nearly punching Errinwright in the face. Bobbie started laughing, and Chrisjen pinned her.

Chrisjen’s smart. Bobbie wonders if Amos would let her go on an away mission, should they find Mao. Amos is very protective of Chrisjen, and everyone knows it. Errinwright, on the other hand, would probably be better just kept in a bubble. Bobbie looks at Chrisjen as she watches the two men fight. Chrisjen’s face is etched with concern. She turns to Bobbie. “He’s not very good, is he?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Maybe he’ll be better with a gun?”

Errinwright is seemingly not better with a gun. For one, he barely knows how to hold it. Amos nearly laughs at how awkwardly he holds the firearm. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna blow your nuts off.” Errinwright just glares at Amos. The two usually get along, but ever since Clarissa attacked Errinwright and Amos nearly killed her, the two have been in a spat.

Chrisjen aims her own gun at the target, firing three shots. Each one misses. “Maybe I need eye correction,” she growls. Bobbie comes up behind her, adjusting her aim, practically holding Chrisjen. It feels nice, Bobbie has to admit.

“Just be patient, ma’am. It’ll come. Try again.” Chrisjen fires three more shots, hitting the target once. Right through the simulated head, too. Chrisjen nearly waves her hands in the air in excitement, but quickly remembers she’s holding a loaded weapon and stills herself. Bobbie bites back a smile. She never expected the woman who was so elegant and poised to be good with a firearm _or_ to celebrate like a child.

Next to them, Errinwright fires his own gun, nearly toppling backwards at the recoil. Bobbie winces, mostly because of Amos’s disgusted expression. “C’mon, Sadavir,” Amos says, simply.

Errinwright tries again--and this time he doesn’t topple. In fact, he hits his target better than Chrisjen did. Bobbie’s impressed. Amos doesn’t match her, though.

“Good,” he grunts.

The four keep practicing. There’s still no word from Drummer on any potential OPA bases where Mao could be, so they keep heading in the direction of Fred Johnson’s last known location. Holden spends most of his time in his quarters. Bobbie’s heard him yelling at...something. The rest of them know something’s seriously wrong, but they don’t discuss it.

Instead, on the nights when Alex graces them with his lasagna, they all exchange small talk. Well, all of them except for Amos, who fumes in the corner, every now and then glaring at Prax, before glaring at Errinwright. Bobbie seriously doesn’t know what’s up with that. She misses Naomi, who seemed to keep Amos under control. The Belter engineer also seemed to keep Holden sane. Her presence, Bobbie decides, is sorely missed.

Bobbie looks at Chrisjen, who’s sitting beside her, with Errinwright across from the two of them. Alex is drawling on about some heroics (which Bobbie knows is bluffing bullshit), and Chrisjen just smiles at Errinwright. It’s a sweet smile; Bobbie’s slowly getting used to the fact that the two of them seem to have initiated a relationship somewhere between Tycho and now. She’s not jealous, just a little concerned on Chrisjen’s behalf.

It’s not like Chrisjen exactly trusted Errinwright before everything went down. But Errinwright’s perfectly cordial to Bobbie, and Bobbie has to admit whatever’s going on seems good for Chrisjen. So she lets it be.

Bobbie cleans the dishes afterward with Alex. “Gunny...is there something going on between Amos and Mr. Errinwright?” Alex looks concerned, but not terribly so.

“I dunno. Maybe it’s because of the fight with Clarissa.”

“How is Ms. Mao doing these days?”

“Last I checked, she’s recovering. Pissy, but recovering.”

“She’s strong. Too bad she isn’t on our side.” Alex hands a clean dish to Bobbie to dry.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon.”

“Maybe once we find her daddy.”

“Maybe.” But Bobbie doubts it.

* * *

Naomi is curled up against Camina, softly snoring. Camina doesn’t find many things cute, but Naomi snoring is one of them.

Even if the sound is driving her a little crazy. “Ay,” she mutters, rearranging Naomi so the snoring stops.

Her hand terminal begins to ring. She opens it. Fred’s serious face greets her. Camina carefully keeps Naomi out of her camera’s shot. “Fred. How nice for you to finally return my calls--”

“I don’t have much time, Drummer. This Ring business is making things escalate. Dawes wants to launch an attack on Earth and Mars while they’re distracted. Using the protomolecule.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Dawes sees an opportunity. The only reason I’m telling you is because you’re in communication with the _Roci_.”

“Maybe I am.”

“You are. Don’t bullshit me. I know they’re trying to find Mao. I’m sending you his last known coordinates. Maybe they’ll find him.”

Naomi’s awake now, but she says nothing, just watching Camina in earnest. Camina ends the call. “Fred?” Naomi asks sleepily.

“Yes. It would appear he’s willing to help.” Camina begins tapping a message to Holden on her terminal. Naomi wraps her arms around Camina.

“Shit’s starting, ay?” Naomi sounds casual. Because they’re used to it at this point.

“Ay,” Camina grunts.

“Well, tell Holden I say hi.” Naomi goes to use the shower. Camina smirks. Naomi’s connection to the young Earther is...cute. But it won’t last. Belters and Earthers aren’t meant to mix.

Camina encrypts the message and sends it off. “Good luck,” she says to the air.

* * *

Drummer’s message opens with a simple “Naomi says hi,” with the rest of it encrypted. Holden can almost imagine Drummer’s smug face. But still, he sighs a little thinking about Naomi. It’s been too long.

The rest of the message is promising...a little too promising. Even if it does bring news that Dawes is seizing the chance to take out Earth and Mars in one fell swoop. Holden can’t believe that the good-natured Belter leader is willing to take the chance, but then again...he can. Dawes is nothing if not also ambitious and cruel, and this would put the OPA on top of the system for good.

_And_ kicking Earth and Mars when they’re both licking their wounds is just cruel. They received news a few days ago that the two planets had declared a ceasefire; not that there was much left of either of them. Both were sending what ships they had left to the Ring, where the war would probably just start again. Chrisjen and Errinwright look more hopeful, though. Not that Holden especially wants Errinwright to be hopeful. Chrisjen...sure.

Holden orders Alex to head towards the coordinates Fred sent to Drummer and prays they aren’t sailing right into a trap. Their weapons are hot, though, so even if the OPA is planning something for them, they’ll put up a fight.

With Bobbie and Amos down below, readying weapons, the rest of the _Roci_ crew assemble on the flight deck. Holden tries to sound commanding, but he’s got a splitting headache, and he can see Miller out of the corner of his mind. _Perfect_. “Bobbie, Amos and I will be the first on the station, if we make it that far. Prax’ll follow close behind. Alex will be ready to get us out of here at the first sign of trouble.”

Chrisjen looks at Holden curiously. “And what do the two of us do?” She indicates Errinwright. Holden sighs. This is the part he’s not looking forward to; he knows Chrisjen is itching for a fight, and with her new training, she’s gonna hate him, but--

“You’ll stay on the _Roci_ , to help Alex and keep an eye on Clarissa.”

“Oh.” Chrisjen looks like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. Surprising. Maybe she knows Errinwright’s still no good in a fight. Errinwright just nods at Holden.

“Alex, we good to approach?” Holden climbs up to the pilot. 

“Seemingly good, Hoss. I’m reading a few life signs, but no hostiles.”

_Doors and corners, kid_ , Miller says. Holden resists the urge to glare at the specter in front of everyone.

They dock with the station, no problem. It’s a ramshackle OPA outfit. No weapons fire greets Bobbie, Amos and Holden when they exit the airlock. “This is too easy,” Amos growls.

“I agree with Amos,” Bobbie says.

“Stay sharp,” Holden says quietly. They reach a computer terminal, still on and Prax is right there behind them, typing in Mei’s name. _Poor guy_ , Miller says in the back of Holden’s head.

“She was here,” Prax says excitedly. “She might still be here, there’s no record of her leaving the station!” Prax looks like he’s going to make a dash for the nearest room to look for her, but he stays in control.

Holden very much does not have a good feeling about any of this. The four of them reach a locked door. Amos easily gets it open. And behind it?


	6. Things Fall Apart

Prax is filled with a feeling of despair when he sees what’s behind the door Amos just opened. Mei is not there.

Jules-Pierre Mao is. And he’s dead. For a long time, from the looks of it. “Shit,” Amos holds his nose.

Bobbie pokes at Mao’s body with her rifle. “He’s...dead?”

Holden sighs. “OPA must’ve killed him once he outlived his usefulness.” The young man calls the ship. “Alex, you said there were life signs?”

“There were, Hoss. But not anymore.”

“Wait, what?” Holden sounds more worried than he did just moments earlier.

“An energy surge is happening within the station...get the hell out of there!”

Holden curses and begins to run towards the ship. Bobbie follows him, easily outpacing him. Prax feels frozen in place, but Amos grabs him by the arm and pulls him out of the room. Alarms have started sounding. The four run as fast and hard as they can towards the _Roci_.

They make it back to the airlock and dash in. It almost looks like they’ll be fine, as Holden slams the button to close the airlock. “C’mon, c’mon.” The four watch as the airlock closes, a little too slowly.

“Hoss, can we unclamp yet?”

“Not yet, Alex!”

Prax is numb. Mei isn’t here. She was, but they moved her again.

Maybe she really is dead. Prax is so caught up in his despair that he doesn’t even notice that Alex and Holden are screaming at each other. Amos body slams Prax into the _Roci_ , landing on top of him with a thud. Amos is heavy, Prax reflects. “What? Why’d you--” Prax gets his answer in the form of an explosion that discharges the _Rocinante_ from the station.

Bobbie and Holden are also on the ground. Holden looks scorched. The ship is spinning out of control, Prax can feel it. The G’s increase, and the four stay stuck to the floor. Prax knows he’s going to pass out; he lets the darkness consume him.

* * *

Chrisjen and Sadavir don’t get the chance to strap themselves down on a crash couch before Alex initiates a burn. Chrisjen feels herself go sailing, before slamming against a wall. _Ow_.

The burn stops suddenly and debris from the station starts piercing the ship. Chrisjen falls to the floor; it’s not too much of a fall, but she’s feeling her age. She looks around for Sadavir. He’s on a crash couch. Alex is yelling at her, but something’s wrong with her hearing, because she can’t hear a word he’s saying.

The pilot pulls her to her feet and grabs Sadavir too, taking them down below. Her hearing starts to come back to her, although her ears are ringing. “We’re in the part of the ship with the thickest hull. If you’re lucky, the debris won’t penetrate. I’ve gotta try to get us out of here. Take care of her,” he commands Sadavir.

Chrisjen almost says she can take care of her own damn self, but she’s feeling bruised and battered. She really just wants to lie down.

Sadavir helps Chrisjen stumble to the med-bay. Her ears are still ringing, badly. “I can’t hear shit,” she says loudly in his general direction. He nods.

* * *

Alex tries his best to get the ship away from the station’s debris field. Emphasis on tries. He wants to be freaking out, but his training’s kicked in and he’s cool as a cucumber. He winces every time he hears debris penetrate the hull--he doesn’t want to end up like Shed. At this rate, he might.

He barely has maneuvering ability, and the engines aren’t giving him much to work with--probably riddled with holes from all the crap outside the ship. “C’mon, baby, hold together.”

The _Rocinante_ responds to his plea by just coming to a dead stop. No maneuvering power, no nothing. He looks at his map and sees a bogey coming their way. And fast. No identi-code either. “Shit,” he yelps. Okay, the training’s leaving him now. With nothing to pilot, he’s starting to lose control. He wishes Holden were here, on the deck, but he doesn’t even know if Holden is still in one piece, let alone on the ship. He opens a channel.

“Bogey one, we are a gas freighter in need of assistance.” That wasn’t convincing at all. Why would a gas freighter be next to a destroyed OPA stealth station?

A voice familiar to anyone who’s tuned into a news broadcast about the OPA comes over the comm. “ _Rocinante_ , good to see you’re still intact. Well, good for me, anyway.” The voice laughs. Alex knows it belongs to Anderson Dawes. Somewhere along the way, someone sold them out. It was a trap. “Prepare to be boarded. We’ll take good care of you, _pomang_.”

Alex just grabs ahold of his head, trying to think of a solution.

There’s not one. “Copy,” he rasps.

But wait. There are at least two people on the ship who are also alive. Errinwright and Avasarala. Maybe Clarissa, too. Alex abandons his post, heading down to the med-bay.

Errinwright’s running Avasarala’s vitals when he arrives. “Long story short, Dawes found us. The _Roci_ ’s shot to hell. She isn’t going anywhere.”

“Fucking hell,” Avasarala growls.

“We’re gonna get boarded. You were looking for a fight, ma’am. You may have found one. If the armory’s intact, we might be able to put up a small resistance.”

“Very small,” Errinwright murmurs.

Alex chooses to ignore the pessimism. “I’d say we’ve got a half-hour before his ship actually gets here, and another half-hour before they’re able to dock.”

“Lead the way, Mr. Kamal,” Avasarala says with a determined glint in her eye.

They get to the armory to find it _partially_ intact. A lot of the weapons are floating around in the zero-g. Alex grabs a rifle and tosses it to Errinwright, before taking one for himself. Avasarala finds a pistol.

“Should we find Ms. Mao?” Avasarala asks.

Alex shrugs. “I don’t know if she’s in the mood to help, but sure. All hands on deck. I’m gonna go to the airlock, see if anyone made it.”

Avasarala and Errinwright head in the direction of Clarissa’s quarters, while Alex makes his way to what’s left of the airlock. It’s not as bad as it sounded like it was going to be. It’s not going to be easy for Dawes to board through it, so he’ll have to cut a hole through the hull, which gives them even more time.

Prax is coming to, as is Amos. The two men groan. Alex drops his rifle and goes to help them to their feet. “What’s goin’ on, Alex?”

“The station exploded, and now Dawes is here to get us all. That pretty much catch you up?”

“Shit,” Amos responds.

Prax is kneeling next to Holden, who’s got some pretty nasty burns all down one side of his body. “Holden?” Prax tries to lift the man, but Holden wakes up, screaming. Amos ignores the screams and picks Holden up, awkwardly.

“I’ll get him to med-bay, try and do something for the pain. Is she--” he indicates Bobbie “--alright?”

Bobbie lifts her head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Bruised, pissed off, but fine.”

Bobbie attempts to stand, before immediately falling to her knees, yowling in pain. “Okay, not fine,” she hisses.

Alex takes a look at her right leg. Compound fracture. He lifts her to her feet and swings her arm over his shoulder. “C’mon, Gunny. Looks like you need to get to the med-bay too.” Alex’s internal countdown gives them an hour left, thanks to the time Dawes’ll now spend cutting through the hull.

* * *

Chrisjen enters Clarissa’s quarters, gun drawn. Clarissa, on her chemical restraint, doesn’t look like she wants to fight anymore. A bruise is forming on her forehead, and there’s at least one hole punched through the bulkhead.

“What’s going on?”

Sadavir’s right behind Chrisjen. “Looks like Dawes caught up to us. The station exploded.”

“My father--”

“We don’t know.”

Chrisjen comes over to Clarissa. “We’re going to need all the help we can get. If I take off the chemical restraint, will you--”

“I hate Dawes even more than I hate the two of you. But I’m not going to be of much help without the implant.”

Chrisjen nods. “I don’t think we have time to put it back. Can you at least handle a gun?”

“Yeah. A little. Better hand-to-hand, but I’ve got some training.”

Chrisjen hands Clarissa another pistol, one she had holstered. Clarissa sticks out her arm, and Chrisjen removes the restraint. Clarissa smiles, free for now. Chrisjen almost feels bad for the young woman. Whatever the team had found on the station hadn’t been good.

* * *

Prax is tending to Holden, but there’s not much he can do. Amos just has a splitting headache, so he mostly feels fine. Alex is working on Bobbie’s leg. “How much time you figure we have left?” Amos asks Alex.

“Maybe a half hour...if we’re lucky.” The _Roci_ groans with the impact of another ship clamping down on it. “Okay, so we’re not lucky.”

“Where’s Chrissy and Sadavir?”

“Right here.” Chrissy emerges, with Sadavir behind her and Clarissa behind him. All are holding weapons. Amos really doesn’t like that Clarissa is holding a weapon, but whatever. They need all the help they can get.

“They’re cuttin’ through the hull now,” Alex says, drawl coming out more strongly. “We’ve got at most...fifteen minutes.”

Amos holds out his hand to Sadavir. “Give me the gun.” Sadavir happily hands it over.

“We’re really fucked, aren’t we?” Chrissy doesn’t look scared, but she’s not exactly the picture of courage, either. Amos tries to flash a smile.

“Probably. But we’ve been through worse.”

“We have?” Alex looks incredulous.

“Well, we were captured by the Martians that one time.”

“And we were nothing but cordial to you,” Bobbie says. “We even practically gave you this ship and look what you’ve done to her.”

Amos really doesn’t think now is the time to bicker. “We need to find where they’re cutting the hole. Maybe we can take some of them out.”

Alex pulls up a display from the flight deck on a terminal. He points to the spot. “Looks like it’ll be around the armory.”

“Perfect.” Now Amos is grinning. “That’ll give us time to get more weapons ready.”

Prax stays behind with Holden and Bobbie, as the rest head to the armory with Amos in the lead. Alex comes up beside him.

“About 10 minutes left, Amos.”

“Good thing we’re to the armory, then.” Amos hears the clanking sound of metal falling to the deck floor not too far away. “Shit. Guess your clock was wrong, Alex.”

Amos aims his rifle in the direction of the noise. He sees the first OPA man drop down to the deck and fires, killing him instantly. Three more follow, and Amos hits two of them. Chrissy hits the other one--non-vitally, but enough to keep him from fighting, for now.

But the OPA boarding the ship seem to be multiplying, almost. Like they’ve heard of the legend of Amos Burton, and they know not to fuck around. Shots are exchanged, but it’s over fairly quickly. The OPA jackass handling Amos is rough and grinning a little too hard. Amos just stares straight ahead. He thinks they’ll take them up to the OPA ship, so he’s a little surprised when Anderson Dawes himself struts up in front of him.

“Mr. Burton,” Dawes smiles. “Such a pleasure to see you again.” Amos just spits at the man. He gets a rifle butt to the temple for his trouble.

* * *

Sadavir holds back a yelp when Amos gets knocked down. It takes a lot to take Amos Burton down, and one of their captors just did it easily. He looks over to Chrisjen, who’s struggling a little, and he shakes his head at her. _Don’t get knocked out_ , he wants to say to her. _Don’t get hurt_.

Dawes walks over to Sadavir, looking a little confused. “Who are you? I know who she is.” He indicates Chrisjen. Sadavir realizes he must be nearly unrecognizable. Lucky him. Good thing he did grow that beard. Sadavir says nothing to Dawes, preferring to look straight ahead. But Dawes squats down to his level, looking at him intently. “Whoever you are, they didn’t give you a weapon.” He laughs at that. Then he turns his attention to Chrisjen. Something tightens within Sadavir.

“Madam Avasarala, formerly of Earth and the United Nations. I like the hair.” _Don’t say anything_ , _please don’t say anything._ Sadavir wishes telepathy was a thing.

Chrisjen does say something, because of course she does. “Anderson Dawes, currently of the Belt and the OPA. I like nothing about you.” She spits those last words out.

Dawes roughly brings Chrisjen up from the floor of the deck. “You do have spirit, I’ll give you that.”

One of the OPA men comes to Dawes and whispers something in his ear. Dawes smiles, whispers back and nods to the man to go do whatever it is he ordered. The fair man turns his attention back to Chrisjen.

“Get these five back to the ship. Don’t hurt Madam Avasarala. She’s our crown jewel.” Dawes leaves, going in the direction of the med-bay. Sadavir feels himself being forced to his feet. Clarissa looks like she’ll lash out at any moment, but thankfully, the oldest Mao daughter keeps her cool.

They’re all thrown into a room, restrained to the walls and just...left there. Amos wakes up with a grunt. He quickly tries to break free of his restraints. “I don’t think that’ll help, Amos,” Alex says, sadly. Alex is slumped against the wall, almost as if his life force is tied to the _Roci_ somehow, and now that she’s disabled, he’s going to fade fast, too.

Chrisjen, next to Clarissa, is scowling. “Amos had the right idea. I should’ve spit at the bastard too.”

“And ended up with a welt on your head? That seems like a bad idea.” Sadavir loves Chrisjen very dearly, but she’s full of bad ideas when she’s pissed off.

“Better than just staring dead ahead, not saying a damn word.”

“Oh, forgive me if I don’t want my brains splattered against the wall.”

“They wouldn’t execute you on the spot.”

“You don’t know that. Mao’s not the biggest fan of me--”

“Mao’s dead.” Amos says this bluntly, forcefully. Clarissa gasps.

“What?” Chrisjen’s clearly in shock, too.

“Dead for a while. He was all that was left on the station. He was bait. We were the prey. Now we’re in here.”

Sadavir looks over at Clarissa. She’s clearly trying not to cry, but the tears come any way. Jules-Pierre may have been a bastard of a man, but he was still her father. Sadavir’s thoughts flash to Jefferson. Jefferson certainly thinks he’s dead, probably for a long time. If Jefferson’s still around to think.

Chrisjen offers a comforting shoulder to Clarissa, who leans her head down.

“Well isn’t this all peachy,” Alex slurs.

Sadavir’s forced to agree with the usually cheerful pilot’s somber demeanor.

It doesn’t get any better as the hours pass, either. Prax is brought in and restrained next to Amos. Prax tries to take a look at the nasty bruise on Amos’s head but can’t do much. The botanist looks as sad as Clarissa, just without the tears. They didn’t come back with a little girl, did they?

Anderson Dawes is doing really well on the separating parents from their children and vice versa front today.

Bobbie is brought in next, leg bound. She’s placed on the other side of Chrisjen. That just leaves Holden, who really didn’t look in great shape the last time Sadavir saw him. Holden doesn’t come.

Hours pass. Maybe days. At least they’ve got oxygen.

* * *

Chrisjen dozed off, at some point. She wakes with a start. Dawes is in front of her again. She groans. “Pretty princess, fast asleep,” he taunts. Chrisjen would smack him, but the restraints won’t allow her to do that.

“What do you want, Mr. Dawes?”

Dawes rises to his feet, addressing them all as if they’re an audience of loyal OPA supporters. “My friends, I know you do not want to be here--”

“Friends?” Bobbie snorts.

“Fine, Ms. Draper, acquaintances.”

“More like goddamn captives, Dawes,” Amos hisses. Chrisjen prays he doesn’t get another hit to the head. She’s not sure how many more of those Amos can take.

“You know, I’d really love if there were no more interruptions. Can I continue?”

“All ears,” Sadavir grunts.

Dawes turns to Sadavir, eyes suddenly bright. “Ah yes. Mr. Mystery Man. Well, not really a mystery... _Mr._ Errinwright.” Chrisjen flinches. She can see Sadavir flinch too. But his brains don’t end up on a bulkhead. Not yet. “Lucky me,” Dawes coos, “I have the king and queen of Earth in my brig.”

Alex speaks up. “According to the plan we heard from Fred Johnson, you were going to make sure there wasn’t much left of Earth and Mars, so what good can they be to you now?” Alex winces as soon as that comes out. Chrisjen knows he didn’t mean to make it sound like she and Sadavir were soon to be expendable.

But fuck him, he did.

“Ah yes, dear Fred. He no longer holds any sway with the OPA.” And that’s all Dawes says about that. Chrisjen wonders if Johnson is dead. _His steady hand will be missed_ , she offers up to whoever’s out there. “Actually, we will be launching our attack on Earth and Mars in the near future,” Dawes continues blandly, as if he’s giving a fucking book report. “And we have ships ready to intercept what remains of the UNN and the MCRN at the Ring.”

So that’s it then. Chrisjen tries not to slump against the wall, because even though all hope appears to be lost, she’s not going to be a fucking pussy about it. She finds her voice. “Where’s Jim Holden?”

“Holden is on his way to Tycho Station with one of my best commanders. He’ll receive the best of care. Once we take back Tycho from Camina and Nagata, that is.”

“You won’t win that fight.” Amos smirks at Dawes.

Dawes just smirks back.

“Why are you helping Holden?” Sadavir asks the most salient question, of course.

“Because Holden is a key, Mr. Errinwright.” Dawes says no more. Chrisjen wonders if Holden’s conversations with Miller are part of that so-called key. She hopes Holden and Nagata at least get reunited.

“What are you going to do with us?” Clarissa says this quietly, but her eyes burn with hatred. 

“That is a very good question, Ms. Mao. I _could_ space the lot of you. I could hand some of you over to various others for favors. I could kill some of you on the spot, sparing you being spaced, but also you’d be dead either way.” He laughs a little. Chrisjen knows he’s toying with them to see how they’ll react, but she’s not sure Clarissa realizes this. Or Amos, for that matter. But the room is dead silent. Until:

“Where’s Mei?” Prax says almost too quietly. But Dawes hears his question.

“Ah, Mr. Meng. Your daughter is safely tucked away on a research base. I don’t hurt children.”

“That doesn’t answer where, not exactly.” Prax looks hopeful, but not satisfied.

“If you were willing to come work for me, I could reunite the two of you.”

“Work on what?”

“The protomolecule project. Now that Mao’s dead--”

“He’s not gonna work with you, Dawes.” Amos looks like he’s about to snap.

But Prax looks like he might bend, just a little. “What good is a botanist with an alien lifeform?” He says, cautiously.

“I don’t know. But we need all the help we get, _belta_.”

Prax rises his to his feet. Amos looks horrified. Chrisjen feels for him. But if she was in Prax’s shoes, she’d probably do the exact same thing for a chance to see her own children again. Prax looks pointedly to his restraints. And then he looks at Amos. “He comes with me,” he says simply.

“What the hell, Prax?” Amos looks like he might spit at Prax next.

“I have to echo Mr. Burton’s sentiments, for once.”

“Amos is my friend. I’m not leaving without him.”

Dawes tilts his head. “How sweet. We will have to chemically restrain him, of course.”

“Like hell--” Amos protests, but goes quiet when Prax places a hand on his arm to still him.

“It’ll be okay, Amos.” Prax says this gently, soothingly. Amos crouches down, arms crossed. He looks baffled by this turn of events, but not like he’s going to stop it. Chrisjen knows how much he loves Prax--and men like Amos don’t love easily.

“Well, that’s settled.” Dawes turns his attentions to Bobbie and Alex. “I don’t know if what’s left of Earth will have any need for the two of you as prisoners, but I could use a skilled pilot _and_ an experienced marine.”

Chrisjen can’t believe that Dawes is slowly poaching each of the _Roci_ crew or trying to. Survival is the goal, though. She knows that. Alex looks at Dawes with a little more hope than he had before. “Only if I get to go to Tycho to be with the Captain, and you don’t lay a hand on Naomi. And you salvage the _Roci_.”

“Done. I wasn’t planning on hurting Ms. Nagata anyway. She’s an excellent engineer. Not expendable.” Dawes looks at Sadavir on that last word. Chrisjen is starting to feel a little sick. Sadavir’s the most vulnerable one of them all, just like he said he was. He has no worth to Earth _or_ Mars. He’s just some washed-up politician who got caught.

But Dawes isn’t ready to pass judgment on Sadavir just yet. “Ms. Draper?”

Bobbie shakes her head no. “I’m not leaving Madam Avasarala.”

Dawes nods. “Figured. So that leaves our two obsolete Earth politicians and Ms. Mao.”

“Just go ahead and kill me,” Clarissa spits out.

“Actually, I was thinking of letting you go,” Dawes says with a wide smile. “You’re not really a threat, and your father didn’t tell you any of his secrets.”

Clarissa is stunned into silence.

“I guess we’re down to our two UN officials, then.” Dawes rubs his hands together. “Korshunov would _very_ much like Mr. Errinwright.”

“He’s still alive?” Sadavir is incredulous.

“Yes, despite his planet’s continued bombardment, Mr. Korshunov is a very slippery fellow indeed.”

“That’s a word for it.” Sadavir looks...annoyed. Korshunov _is_ annoying, Chrisjen has to agree with him on that.

“I suppose I could deliver you as a pair.”

“But aren’t you just going to blast Earth and Mars with protomolecule anyway? What would be the point?” Chrisjen asks.

“Making Korshunov feel secure. If he agrees to certain things, I could just not attack Mars. I really have no fight with the Martians. Mostly just your home planet.”

Sadavir looks at Chrisjen. Chrisjen looks back at him. _Korshunov’s going to finish what he started. Shit._

“It’s all settled then. Say your goodbyes, my friends, ah, acquaintances. This is how the order of things work out.” Dawes leaves them in silence.


	7. A New Hope

Naomi Nagata is not used to seeing panic in Camina’s dark eyes. But she’s seeing it. And with good reason. Dawes has the _Roci_ , and he took the entire crew as prisoners.

And Fred’s probably dead. And Fred’s last known contact was...Camina. Camina’s panic quickly turns to rage as she smashes a coffee cup against what used to be Fred’s desk.

“Goddamned Dawes,” she hisses.

“Are you sure he’s coming for Tycho?” Naomi tries to sound soothing, keep panic out of her own voice, but she doesn’t feel convincing.

“Where else would he go? We’re the OPA stronghold, the shining jewel. Besides, I received a message from one of his commanders before I called you up here.”

“Who?”

“Klaes Ashford.”

“Shit.” Ashford had originally been a pirate. Hell of a good one, too. And a brutal one. He was a brilliant tactician. If there was anyone who could take Tycho, it was probably him.

“Indeed. Ashford was pleasant, asshole. Clearly trying to come in peace before taking the station.”

“What are you going to do, Camina?”

“There are too many people on this station to start a shooting war over it. I won’t be the butcher of Tycho Station just to protect my own skin.”

Naomi lets this sink in. “You’ve got to leave, then. Go into hiding. Come back when the time is right.”

“I don’t hide well, Naomi.”

“Dawes will have you killed, once he gets here. You’re a threat, especially since he knows you’re not loyal to him.”

“So? I die. Many good people have died. Especially in the past year.”

Naomi grabs Camina’s hand. “But I don’t want you to die.”

Camina sighs, lifting Naomi’s hand to her lips and kissing it. “There’s an old _tumang_ song. ‘You can’t always get what you want.’”

“Camina, I--”

Camina shushes her. “I’ve never met Ashford before. Maybe he can be...wooed.”

“But Dawes will come eventually.”

“And when he comes, then we’ll be ready.”

Naomi’s not sure what that means, but she places her trust in Camina. It’s all she has.

* * *

Prax looks at Amos, whose head is leaning against his shoulder. Amos is drooling. It’s almost cute. Ever since they put the chemical restraint on Amos, he hasn’t said much. He seems more mellow, but Prax knows Amos will be pissed at him, probably for a long time. But he wasn’t going to let Dawes just kill Amos. And Amos certainly wasn’t going to work with Dawes.

And besides, Prax needs Amos around. He wasn’t sure of that before, but he knows that now.

They’re on a ship headed to the mysterious research station where Mei is supposedly being held. Prax knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but they’re still up and rising the closer that they get. Even if he is trading his ethics to get her back. And part of Amos’s soul.

But as Amos has indicated to Prax before, there wasn’t much of his soul left anyhow. And besides, Prax feels like he can give Amos love, which is almost as good.

Amos wakes up with a snort. “We there yet?” he grunts.

“I don’t know. They haven’t said anything.”

“Wake me up when we’re close.” And Amos is back to sleep.

Prax smiles a little. But it’s not a happy smile.

* * *

Alex is on his way to Tycho. Dawes gave him a little ship of his own. He’s supposed to meet up with this Ashford fellow and fly as an escort. Alex is extremely tempted to instead go after the ship that’s transporting Bobbie, Avasarala and Errinwright to Mars.

 _Extremely_.

And he would do it, too, if it weren’t for the other ships in his squadron, who would almost certainly blast him to bits were he even to attempt an escape. But Alex is still running calculations in his head.

Maybe it’s possible, he decides. If he’s quick, careful, smooth. Alex Kamal is all of those things, even if he hasn’t felt like it ever since he lost the _Roci_.

And what good is Holden going to be to him if he loses Avasarala? Holden’d be pissed. Naomi wouldn’t give a shit, but Holden would.

And Bobbie...he can’t just let her die on their own soil because she’s so stubbornly loyal to some old lady.

Errinwright he could take or leave. Although he knows that if he manages to rescue Avasarala then he’ll have to rescue the guy, too. Avasarala’s not going to leave one of her oldest friends behind. Friends are increasingly hard to come by in space, he reckons.

“Aw hell,” Alex says, and begins a maneuver he hasn’t done in years. It takes nearly all the juice he’s got and all his willpower to complete. He feels weapons fire pass by his ship, but not hit him. But he spins his little ship around and blasts off towards Bobbie and the other two. He burns most of his fuel doing this, so he’s not even sure he’ll make it to Mars, but again...it’s worth a try.

Alex lets out a whoop to the silence around him.

* * *

Bobbie stares straight ahead. She knows she’s going to either her permanent imprisonment or her death, and she’s trying to accept that. When she was a marine, she knew she could die at any moment, and she was okay with that...but she’s not a marine now. Hasn’t been for a while.

Errinwright and Chrisjen are both asleep, Chrisjen’s head resting on Errinwright’s shoulder. They look peaceful. Bobbie marvels at that. Maybe it’s just because they’re asleep, so they’re not actively thinking about their own impending deaths, but it’s still oddly wonderful.

Bobbie would love to feel whatever they’re feeling right now. She can’t even get to sleep, despite the hum of the engine nearby which would usually soothe her nerves.

Chrisjen’s face remains peaceful, but Errinwright wakes up with a jolt. He looks down at Chrisjen, who remains asleep, before looking at Bobbie.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice is soft and low.

“Not really. You were.”

“I didn’t sleep back on Dawes’s ship. I could sleep through anything at this point.”

“Then why aren’t you still asleep?”

“Had a nightmare.”

Bobbie doesn’t really want to hear about Errinwright’s dreams, but she’s bored, and maybe him telling her a story will put her to sleep. “What was it about?”

“Her dying.” He looks down at Chrisjen, softly.

“You’re both going to die, sir. That’s more a reality than a dream.”

“She’s not going to die if I can help it.” Errinwright’s voice has steel in it. He sits a little straighter, eyes glinting.

“What will she do if _you_ die, though?”

“She’ll survive. It’s what she always does. And she’ll have your help, hopefully.”

Bobbie snorts. “I don’t know if you noticed, Errinwright, but none of us are getting out of this. At least not easily. We’re lucky Dawes didn’t save Korshunov the trouble and kill us himself.”

Errinwright just nods. “Hope’s not a bad thing, though. I used to think it was. But it’s not. We should all be more like Mr. Meng.”

“Force our best friends to take drugs and be prisoners to stay by our side?”

Errinwright rolls his eyes. “No. And you know that’s not what I meant.”

Bobbie suddenly feels very tired. She closes her eyes. Errinwright doesn’t say anything else. Bobbie hopes she doesn’t dream of death. But she has a feeling she will.

* * *

Holden wakes up on Tycho, in a med-bay. He doesn’t exactly want to know how he got there. Naomi’s there, but no other faces he recognizes. “Hi,” he whispers, because that’s all his voice can manage.

“Hello, Jim,” she says sweetly, if somberly.

“What happened?”

“The _Roci_ got pretty badly damaged, and Dawes boarded it. He took everyone prisoner. Because of how badly you were burned, he sent you here--”

“That’s not the only reason, kid.” Miller’s perched on the edge of his bed, flipping a coin.

“Go away, Miller,” Holden finds himself mumbling.

Naomi shushes him. “Don’t mention Mill... _him_ , Jim. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he responds.

“Alex was supposed to be coming here, but he didn’t show up with his squadron. He became a pilot for Dawes with the expectation that the _Roci_ would be salvaged, and that he would be reunited with us. They’re not sure where he went.”

“Amos?”

“With Prax at some research station. I think Dawes must’ve claimed that Mei was there. I hope if he did say that, it was the truth.”

Holden nods, groggily. “Avasarala?”

“I don’t know. I was going to get more information from Alex, but--”

“It’s okay,” Holden slurs. “Where’s Camina?”

“In a holding cell. The man who accompanied you here, Ashford, took control of the station.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“I’m supposed to keep an eye on you when I’m not helping him. So please be a needy patient so I don’t have to help him.”

“Mission accepted.”

Naomi smiles, and the light almost comes back into her eyes. She kisses Holden on the forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Holden wants to protest that he’s slept plenty, but he’s out before he can say anything else. And just like before when he was asleep, Miller is right there beside him, chattering Holden’s ears off.

* * *

Clarissa isn’t sure what she’s doing once Dawes drops her off at a random spaceport. She could catch a transport back to what’s left of Earth. Try and warn them of what’s coming. But would anyone listen to the daughter of Jules-Pierre Mao? She could go to Tycho Station, where the action will seemingly be once Dawes gets there. Try and kill him. Probably get herself killed in the process.

Not that Clarissa is exactly afraid of death. No, she was praying Dawes would space her back there, put her out of her fucking misery.

She wanders the halls of the port, looking at different signboards, some advertising jobs, some outdated ones advertising pleasure cruises (all pretty much canceled now), some just fizzling. This is an old spaceport, filled with Belters and other rock hoppers.

Clarissa sees a woman with blonde hair holding a curly-haired child’s hand, looking lost. Clarissa keeps her head down and tries to pass by, but the woman stops her. “Sorry, we just got here, and we’re a little lost. I’m looking for--”

“I’m new here, too,” Clarissa grunts, trying to go anywhere else.

“Oh! Well, maybe we could figure it out together. This is Nami, and I’m Anna,” Anna extends her hand with a wide smile on her face. _Why is she so cheerful_? Clarissa thinks _. We’re in the middle of a goddamn war._ Almost as if Anna has read Clarissa’s mind (or maybe just her steely face), the blonde woman launches into her story, almost babbling.

“We’re refugees from Earth, trying to get to the Ring. My wife, Nono, she...well, we lost her. We were on a transport for a long time, but it wasn’t terrible, was it, sweetie?” Anna picks up Nami, even if the child looks too old to be held. Clarissa feels for Anna, but mostly for Nami.

And for some reason, she says this to the child: “I just lost a parent, too.” It feels like she’s revealing too much, but it also feels relieving to say.

Anna’s eyes fill with sympathy. “Oh, my dear. Are you from Earth, too? I can never tell who’s from where...fault of living on Earth my whole life, I guess.”

Clarissa just nods.

“What’s your name?”

Ah, the moment of truth. Clarissa decides to start lying again. “Melba. Melba Koh.” She sticks her hand out to Anna, mimicking the other woman’s earlier gesture. Anna sets Nami down and takes Clarissa’s hand, shaking it eagerly. _Everything about this woman is so...kind_. Clarissa’s not used to genuine kindness, not these days.

“It’s nice to meet you, Melba. I know you’re new here, too, but do you have any experience in the Belt in general?”

“I do.”

“Well, you might be helpful to the two of us. If you’re willing.”

Clarissa decides she is.

* * *

Naomi watches Jim carefully. The doctors say the burns will heal, but it will take grafting and time. Ashford asked her to come by his ( _Camina’s_ , she thinks bitterly) office. Naomi made up an excuse about needing to be by Jim’s side during one of the grafting sessions. Ashford is oddly sympathetic to Jim’s case; but Naomi knows it’s because Dawes thinks Jim’s connection to Miller is important to his protomolecule research.

Naomi feels a little sick about just how Dawes and Fred got control of the protomolecule. It wasn’t entirely her fault, but she certainly put the apple into the Garden of Eden by leaving some of the damned stuff behind for Fred and Camina. Of course Dawes would get a hold of it. Naomi knows she’s not stupid, but she feels that way right now.

Jim sleeps most of the time, but he’s told her a few things. How they found Mao, a rotting corpse. One of the most powerful men in the system, reduced to that. The balance of things is shifting and not in a way Naomi likes. Not at all. Her thoughts turn to...no. Not him. Although, if he’s still out there, he is probably enjoying all of this. And plotting his own return to the stage.

 _Dawes had better watch his back_. She smiles a little at that. Jim, awake again, sees her smile.

“Good news?”

“Maybe someday. How are you feeling?” She rests a hand on his unburnt arm.

“I mean, I’m still in pain, but the meds I’m on are helping. I thought radiation sickness was bad.”

“You are a very lucky man, Jim Holden.” Naomi grins at him.

“Only lucky because of you,” he says, kissing her hand as best he can. Ever the gentleman.

A call comes over Naomi’s hand terminal. It’s Ashford, of course. “Ms. Nagata. I’ve been monitoring Captain Holden’s procedure, and it seems he is in the clear, for now. Could you please meet me at Drummer’s holding cell?”

“What’s going on?”

“Just come meet me. That is all.”

Naomi’s sick feeling is back. Jim looks up at her, his concern matching her worry. “That doesn’t sound good.”

* * *

Camina paces in her holding cell. She’s never seen animals in a zoo (a quaint Earth tradition), but she imagines she looks rather like a panther stalking invisible prey.

Ashford is that prey. And god, she wants to kick his ass, for so elegantly taking her station. But she knows it’s more likely that she’ll get shot in the head and her body spaced, Naomi watching helplessly before returning to the arms of Jim Holden.

At least Naomi’ll have someone. She deserves it, after a long line of bastards. Holden is no bastard (at least not in the figurative sense). Marco Inaros is never far from Camina’s mind, especially when she sees Naomi’s face flood with concern.

Camina would also like to kick Marco’s ass. And Dawes’s ass. And Fred’s for good measure. If Fred’s even still alive.

Come to think of it, Camina just wants to kick men’s asses in general. She’d add Holden to the list, she guesses, but she’ll spare him because part of him is currently covered in burns. Holden’s been through a lot.

Camina is interrupted forming her ass-kicking list by Ashford and Naomi entering her cell. Camina smiles at Naomi, almost instinctually, before glaring a hole through Ashford. Ashford seems unfazed.

“Ah Camina, such a pleasure as always.” Ashford bows his head in her direction, recognizing her as a worthy opponent. Camina hates that, because she is so much better than Klaes Ashford.

“What do you want, Ashford?” She barks this.

“Yes, you’re probably wondering why I’ve convened this little tête-à-tête.”

“You’re finally going to shoot me?”

Ashford lets out a boisterous laugh. “Actually...I was thinking of letting you get away.”

“What?” Naomi and Camina say simultaneously.

“I have no desire to see Dawes order your execution. You’re one of the OPA’s best, even if you were on the wrong side of things, this time.”

“I hardly think attempting to prevent the destruction of Earth and Mars is the wrong side of things, Ashford,” Camina sniffs.

“Neither do I. But it was the wrong side of things politically, given who’s rising within the leadership of the OPA. You’re a good soldier, Camina, but you’re a better leader. And when the current leadership begins to eat itself alive, there will be a power vacuum. I’d like you to live long enough to see it.”

Camina considers this. “What about Naomi and Holden?”

“Holden will be remaining with us. Dawes would accept you escaping--you have many allies on Tycho. Holden’s currently stuck in bed and in no condition to escape. However, if Ms. Nagata so chooses, she could leave with you. It’s not like she’s of any use to me or Dawes, except to keep Holden comfortable.”

Camina looks at Naomi. It would be cruel to make her choose. And yet, part of Camina wants to be cruel. “What do you want?”

 _Don’t make me choose_ , Naomi’s eyes say, impossibly sad. But she chooses. “If what Ashford’s saying is true, neither of us are safe. The system’s going to hell, but especially the Belt. I doubt Dawes and his allies want me around.”

“And Holden?” Ashford says, in his frog-like voice.

“Holden knows we have to survive. He’ll understand.”

Ashford bows his head respectfully at Naomi. “You are a wise one, Ms. Nagata. Keep Camina safe. I’ll be in contact soon about your escape plan.” He leaves the two alone.

Camina embraces Naomi, which she can tell surprises Naomi, but Naomi accepts the embrace. “It’ll be okay,” Naomi says into Camina’s shoulder.

“I do not like running away.”

“And I like the idea of you dying less. Let’s get out while we still can. If Ashford’s right about the leadership situation, the time will come for us to stop running.”

Camina lets go of Naomi, squeezing her shoulder. “Well, this will be interesting, if nothing else.”

* * *

Alex is able to find Bobbie, Avasarala and Errinwright’s transport easily enough. It’s a slow-moving craft, and Alex gets the feeling if he wanted to sneak up and latch on like a parasite, he could. The thing that holds him back is the transport’s escort ships. Standard OPA craft, but still deadly, especially with his own ship running low on fuel, weapons and juice.

As far as he knows, Mars’s planetary defense systems are shot; he could sneak down to the surface easily, and if he uses the last of his fuel and the juice to make it down to the surface, he might be able to get ahead of the transport and come up with an actual escape plan for the other three. He has a little pistol the OPA gave him, in case he ran into any trouble on his way to Tycho. Or maybe they were hoping he would blow his brains out.

He could give Avasarala the pistol--she’s gotten surprisingly good at handling small weapons. Bobbie he’d need to find something far bigger for. Errinwright...well, no. That would cause more harm than good. Alex himself isn’t the best shot, so he can sympathize with Errinwright’s plight. Sometimes the man hits his target dead-on, but more often than not he ends up either on his ass from the recoil or shooting something entirely different from his target.

Mars is probably in enough chaos that he can grab some weapons. This plan is based on a lot of “probably’s” and “maybe’s,” and he knows that, but would it be a Kamal plan if there wasn’t a high degree of danger? He really wishes Amos was here. He knows Amos doesn’t care much for Mars, so Alex’s favorite frightening muscle probably wouldn’t want to be here. But Alex could use some frightening muscle right now.

Alex uses the last of his juice and fuel to burn past the transport ship. He makes it in view of Mars. “Shit,” he says low and slow. He’d seen images of the devastation, but he had really hoped it was exaggerated by the news broadcasters.

No, if anything, they had downplayed what Earth had done to his home planet. Alex doesn’t often feel like a patriot, but when he does, he feels it strong, and right now, he’s feelin’ like _just_ rescuing Bobbie and leaving the _Roci_ crew’s two favorite Earth politicians to get out of the mess they made for themselves.

But they’re _former_ politicians, and Holden’d never forgive him for abandoning Avasarala if he had a chance to rescue her. So maybe he can just leave Errinwright behind. The man helped enable Mao to wreak all kinds of hell on Eros--would the system miss the guy? Alex will make the call if he even gets close to the three of them, which is a big _if_.

Alex makes it down to the surface with no difficulties, which makes him think that this is starting far too easy to end well. The woman he talks to at the port seemingly ignores the fact that he’s in an OPA fighter craft, just glad to hear another Martian’s drawl. Alex has to admit, it feels good to be on Mars again, even if it’s been many years and even if Mars is in tatters. He works up the gumption to ask the woman (“Halverston,” her badge says) if there are any transports scheduled to come in.

“Ah...Halverston, right?”

“Right, Mr. Burton.” Oh right, he had identified himself as Jim Burton...not the best alias, but better than showing up as himself.

“You wouldn’t happen to know if any transports from the Belt are comin’ in anytime soon, would ya? With all the chaos goin’ on, I got separated from some friends...refugees, see.” He lays on the drawl thick. Hopefully not too thick.

From the look of her smile, not too thick. “Let me see. Reuniting friends is the best we can do these days. Are they stopping over on their way to the Ring?” From the surprised look on Alex’s face, Halverston can clearly tell he hasn’t heard this bit of news. “There have been refugees making a run for the Ring. This Belter idiot got himself killed trying to get through it, but some are theorizing that he came at it too fast.”

“Uh-huh. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the news. Hadn’t heard any of that.”

“So they’re not on their way to the Ring.”

“They haven’t heard anything in a while, either. Maybe we’ll try that after we meet up.”

Halverston sighs. “Better than trying to stay here. Most of the planet is uninhabitable. A far cry from the days before this fucking war.”

“I did hear _that_...what’s his name? Korshu-something? Took over the government?”

“Probably shouldn’t talk about that, Mr. Burton.” Halverston taps some more on her terminal. “It looks like there’s a transport scheduled to land at this very port in four hours. Aren’t you lucky?”

This _is_ too easy. “Yeah,” mutters Alex, “...lucky.” He tries to sound more exuberant on that last part. If Halverston has noticed his hesitancy, she doesn’t indicate it.

“Well...see you in four hours.” Halverston smiles at him. It’s too wide, Alex thinks, and the woman’s eyes are not smiling. _This whole planet’s been through hell_ , Alex considers. _Everyone’s allowed to not be the cheeriest_.

But it still sets him on edge.

* * *

Chrisjen has never been to Mars. Despite her son’s death being revealed to her as _not_ being at the hands of the Martians (but rather the OPA), she just never felt the desire to go. She had Frank, besides. But Frank’s dead.

And she’ll probably be dead soon, too. Chrisjen looks at Bobbie, who’s gripping her armrests, uncharacteristically nervous. She looks next to her, at Sadavir, who looks almost...peaceful, accepting. Even if Chrisjen and Bobbie’s lives get spared, his most certainly will not. Chrisjen’s trying not to concentrate on that.

“Sadavir,” she says quietly, so Bobbie can’t hear them over the rattling of the transport ship making its descent. But he doesn’t answer her. Chrisjen looks down at his hands, which are in some sort of steeple position. Is he praying? That doesn’t make any sense. If Chrisjen’s not religious, Sadavir’s certainly not. She places her hands on his. He startles, before turning to look at her.

“Huh...what?”

“What were you doing?”

“Just meditating.”

“I didn’t know you meditated.”

“Sometimes. You should try it sometime.”

Chrisjen chortles. “No, thank you.”

Sadavir raises an eyebrow at her. “It’s really not that bad. It’s...soothing. Especially when...” He trails off.

“When you’re facing certain death?”

“Yeah.”

Chrisjen squeezes his hands in some sort of reassuring gesture. He smiles in response. Chrisjen realizes Bobbie is watching them. “How are you doing, Bobbie?”

“Oh, you know, ma’am. Trying not to concentrate on our impending doom.” Bobbie purses her lips.

“You could try meditating?” Chrisjen hears Sadavir muffle a snort. No, Bobbie does not seem the meditating type.

“Really, ma’am?” Bobbie says, with a mirthless laugh.

“Well, apparently it works for this fucker.” Chrisjen points at Sadavir. He does not protest her characterization of him. He’s used to it at this point.

“We’re about to land,” the OPA guard (who’s been watching them this entire time) grunts. Chrisjen hopes that the three of them have at least been entertaining. Chrisjen finds herself gripping her armrests. Sadavir’s back to meditating. Bobbie looks determined and defeated at the same time.

Chrisjen realizes she hasn’t been on a planet for a long time. She really hopes she doesn’t throw up or pass out or whatever. Thankfully, there’s not much sunlight that gets to Mars, so she won’t be blinded.

It turns out that their transport lands indoors, so the sun isn’t much of a problem. The OPA guard doesn’t restrain the three before they exit. He just pointedly keeps his weapon at the ready, should any of them choose to attempt an escape.

The guard leads them out of the transport--and gets greeted with a bullet to the chest. Bobbie immediately leaps into action, grabbing his weapon, aiming it in the direction of the mysterious shooter. Sadavir has stepped in front of Chrisjen, a protective arm keeping her from rushing forward.

The pilot of the transport has heard the ruckus and comes running--Bobbie hits the helmetless man right through his eye. A bit of his blood and brains ends up on Chrisjen. All her adventures in space, and she’d never gotten _brain_ on her. Blood, sure. Sadavir turns to Chrisjen and sees the blood on her face and the formerly peaceful man freaks out.

“Oh my god, Chrisjen--”

“It’s just his--”

But she’s cut off by a troop of Martian marines marching in and aiming their weapons at the three of them. Bobbie carefully drops her weapon to the ground. The mysterious shooter begins a barrage on the marines, but their aim is precise. The shooter stops firing, either dead or having abandoned his post. Chrisjen realizes that in the crossfire, someone got hit. _Sadavir_. Again. _Shit_.

She kneels down next to him, sees that his wound is non-vital (and the round passed through this time). She hisses at him: “Play dead.” He nods and stays down.

One of the marines comes over and pulls Chrisjen to his feet. “Looks like Errinwright is down,” the marine says smugly.

“Won’t Korshunov still want him?”

“Avasarala’s the mission. He was just a bonus. Leave him. Don’t need to be dragging dead weight around. I’ll call someone to collect the body soon enough.” And the marine starts marching Chrisjen away from the ship, away from Sadavir. She ends up next to Bobbie.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry--”

Chrisjen plays along. “He knew his time was up. It’s okay, Bobbie.”

The two are marched towards an uncertain fate. Chrisjen looks back at Sadavir. He’s still playing dead--or at least she hopes he’s just playing. _Good boy_ , she thinks grimly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters this week, but they're long, so that's okay. Hopefully, we get to at least chapter ten by next week. Cheers, readers!
> 
> ETA: The next chapters are coming s l o w l y. Hopefully, the writing bug hits me again, and SOON. Fingers crossed for us all.


	8. It's the Journey, Not the Destination

Alex thought he _might_ have a chance at taking out the OPA guards, and he was right on that count. But he knew he wouldn’t catch the Martian marines who were surely coming. So, he clipped what he hoped was a non-essential part of Errinwright’s arm, because Errinwright was in the best position for a stray shot from the mysterious sniper to make it look like an accident. Alex had never considered himself a great shot; thankfully, the OPA guards were worse.

Errinwright had done his job, took it like a champ, and just stayed down on the ground. Chrisjen had knelt down next to Errinwright, and Alex was tempted to take a shot at her too, free both of them, but at that point, he had to abandon his position.

Thanks to Halverston, the security cameras were on a looping feed--the young woman had taken the initiative to find Alex on her break and confront him over what exactly his plans were. She knew the ship was OPA as soon as she saw it on the logs--Alex’s “I’ve got friends comin’ in” excuse was highly suspect. Alex knew it was useless to try and bluff a fellow Martian. So, he didn’t. Halverston agreed to do one thing before leaving for the day: screw with the security cameras.

Alex was exceedingly grateful to her. He hoped he could make it up to her someday if the Martian security forces didn’t get to her first. Or maybe even if the Martian security forces got to her.

He rushes over to Errinwright as soon as the marines are out of earshot. _Fuck, that’s a lot of blood_. He nudges the older man on his good arm. Errinwright hesitantly opens his eyes slowly, then his eyes widen when he sees who his savior is.

“Mr. Kamal?”

“Errinwright, good to see you again--”

“How the hell did you--”

“No time. Gotta get you out of here.”

Errinwright looks down at his bum, bleeding out arm. “What are we going to do about this, though?”

Alex looks around for something to stop the bleeding--a med-kit, maybe. But he doesn’t see one. He tears a strip off of his own jumpsuit and wraps it around the wound, tying it tight. Errinwright growls in pain. “Sorry.”

“Do you think that’s going to do much?”

“Not a medic, so let’s just hope. Can you walk?” Errinwright just nods.

Alex pulls him to his feet. “I’m not very lucky, am I?” Errinwright looks askance at Alex, as if waiting for confirmation.

“You made it this far, man. You’re not dead yet.”

Errinwright grunts. “How reassuring, Mr. Kamal.”

“Call me Alex. Let’s go.” Alex has an idea of where to hide out, and he hopes it works. This isn’t his old neighborhood.

* * *

Chrisjen and Bobbie are thrown roughly into two different cells in what Chrisjen can only describe as a dungeon if those still exist. She supposes they still do. She’d thrown plenty of OPA men into facilities like this in her time. Except most of them had to be placed into the tank, like fish, to keep them alive. There was no such thing for Chrisjen and Bobbie, even though they’d both been in space for long amounts of time at this point. Chrisjen is starting to feel the effects of Mars’s gravity, and she groans a little.

“What’s wrong?” Shit. Bobbie heard her.

“Nothing.”

“Did you get shot?” Worry flooding Bobbie’s voice.

“No, no...just...an old woman not used to getting thrown around like a sack of potatoes.” Chrisjen shifts in her position on the floor and slumps over. _I barely moved!_

“Chrisjen!” Chrisjen can hear her voice being called, but she’s not sure who’s calling it as she drifts into unconsciousness. Bobbie? Sadavir? A guard? “Chrisjen!” But the voice fades.

Amos feels drowsy--impossibly drowsy, like he’s trapped in a dream world, with Prax by his side.

Prax. He did this to him. To save his daughter, and Amos, but still, a step too far.

Prax is watching him. “You were out for a while. We’re almost there.”

Amos sloppily gestures to his chemical restraint. “What’d you expect? I’m not exactly operating at full...at full...” but he can’t find the words. He doesn’t really know what he was saying.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“I was just trying to keep you safe. Keep you with me.”

“Because you cared so much about staying by my side before.”

“I know I’ve been distant these past couple of months. I’m just worried about Mei.”

“And I was there for you. But this is a two-way street.” Amos wishes he could indicate his anger with Prax, but with the chemicals flowing through his body, he can barely move. He hopes they turn down the level of restraint once they reach the research facility.

But his hopes aren’t high, and his trust of anyone, especially Prax, is running low.

Amos wishes that wasn’t true.

* * *

Bobbie hears Chrisjen coughing as she wakes back up. “I’ve been calling your name enough.”

“Don’t go fucking hoarse on my account,” Chrisjen growls.

“Gravity hitting, huh?”

“Never thought I’d feel like a Belter.”

“You’ll adjust.”

“Will I?” A wry chuckle.

Bobbie doesn’t know what to say to that. She wants to reach out to Chrisjen, hold onto her--but she knows she can’t, both emotionally and physically. For one, they’re in separate cells. For another, Chrisjen loves Errinwright. Oh, Bobbie knows Chrisjen loves her too, in her own way. But not like that. Not yet.

And Bobbie’s not one to push it, in this case. Still, she thinks _what if_?

“You’ve gone quiet, Bobbie. I need you to keep me awake.”

“What would you like me to do? To say?”

“Tell me something nice.”

_Oh, hell_. And without thinking about it much, Bobbie blurts it out. “I love you.”

Silence from the other cell.

More silence.

“Really?” That’s all Chrisjen says before she moans and presumably passes out again. Bobbie can imagine the incredulous look on her face.

_Fuck_.

* * *

Holden wakes up in a blue, glowing environment. He blinks rapidly, hoping to wake himself up from what has to be a dream.

“Not a dream, kid.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re where I live now,” and Miller steps out of the shadows. “‘The Ring,’ I think you call it.”

“But that’s miles from here.”

“I never said these visions would make sense.”

“So that’s what I’ve been having? Visions?”

Miller shrugs. “You’ve been having whatever the protomolecule wants you to have. It guides us, shapes us. Even Dawes and Mao and all their cronies.”

Holden can’t quite wrap his head around all of it, and he doesn’t especially want to. What he really wants to know is why the protomolecule chose him.

“I don’t know why,” Miller answers his question nearly before it’s a finished thought.

“Don’t do that.” Holden grimaces.

“What? Read your mind? I’ve been doing it this whole time. You’ve made a lot of idiot decisions in the name of your own stubbornness.”

“Yeah, but you already knew that.”

Miller grins, which is just eerie on the dead man’s face. “Yeah, I did.”

* * *

Camina looks at Naomi, who is monitoring the engine function on the small ship Ashford commandeered for them. It’s an old rust bucket, but an old rust bucket is what they’ll need to successfully hide from the OPA.

“Anyone following us?” Camina doesn’t trust Ashford one bit, even if he helped them. Pirates are known to change their minds.

Naomi pulls up the nav screen. “Nothing. I think we’re okay.”

“Good,” Camina just grunts.

“Are you okay?”

“I said I was fine with the plan.”

“Yes, but being fine is different than being okay.” Naomi’s face radiates concern, and Camina, in that moment, hates how damn compassionate the other woman can be.

“I don’t really know what the difference is. And I don’t want to know. Not right now.”

Naomi walks over to Camina and squeezes her hand. “We’re together. So many others aren’t right now.”

“Like Holden.”

“Like Jim, yes. But he approved. He knows what has to be done to keep everything from falling apart.”

Camina snorts. “How noble of your boyfriend.”

“And he knows I love you just as much as I love him.” Naomi pecks Camina on the cheek, before heading down to the engine room.

Camina loves Naomi Nagata. But she doesn’t know if she can stand to be a third wheel or in a triangle.

* * *

Sadavir slumps against the wall of the storage room Alex found to stow him away in. Alex is off looking for medical supplies, which worries Sadavir, because that leaves him relatively defenseless. Alex gave him a pistol he got off of one of the marines, but Sadavir knows he’s down one arm and has no aim. So, basically, he’s fucked if anyone comes looking for him.

He breathes a sigh of relief when Alex comes in with the supplies, a small kit, hopefully filled with painkillers, because his wound is starting to make him feel very woozy.

“What took so long?” An attempt at humor. Not a good one, from the look on Alex’s face.

“Are you getting delirious?”

“Paranoid, maybe. I thought someone might bust in and finish the job while you were gone.”

Alex nods, tending to Sadavir’s wound carefully. “It went clean through. You’re lucky, we don’t have to dig out anything.”

“I don’t feel lucky, as I said before.”

“Right.” The Martian man works carefully, quickly, like he’s done this before. He probably has. “You’ll hold together. Probably won’t lose the arm.”

“Oh, good,” Sadavir says drolly. “We have to find Chrisjen and Bobbie.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. If I can leave you alone...” Alex trails off, doubtful.

“You can. I’ll just shoot if anyone comes near me.”

“That’s a good idea.” It’s Alex’s turn to be droll.

“It’s better than leaving them to die.”

“If we can’t save them--”

“We can. We have to.” Sadavir is very insistent on that last point.

Alex nods, rubbing his beard. “Let me see if I can get any security footage. See where they were heading.”

* * *

Anna looks over at the petite woman who introduced herself as “Melba” as they wait for a transport to take them to the Ring. According to the deck foreman, it’ll be a while.

Anna doesn’t believe for one moment that Melba is the woman’s real name, but she likes her nevertheless. No one tells the truth out here in the dark of space; Anna’s learned that the hard way.

Nami plays tag with some other refugee children, and she looks happy. Anna’s glad. Anna herself hasn’t felt _truly_ happy ever since Nono died.

Nono had been in the city when the bombs fell--she got out, somehow, but succumbed to the radiation poisoning before they could even leave Earth. Anna and Nami had been lucky; while they would be on anti-rad medication their entire lives, they’d live relatively long lives. If they survive the Belt. And the Ring. And what lies beyond the Ring.

Anna is a woman of faith, but she’s a woman of science too; so she has _faith_ they will survive, but she knows how terrible the odds are.

“Melba?”

Melba, in the middle of a lackluster nap, snorts herself awake. “Yes?”

“How much do you know about the Ring?”

“Just that it’s whatever leapt off Venus. The protomolecule.”

“The remains of Eros.”

Melba stiffens. “Yes.”

“Did you know anyone on Eros?”

Melba shifts uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“My sister--”

“Oh god, I’m sorry. A parent and a sister?”

“It’s been a tough year.” And that’s all Melba says, turning to the side not facing Anna.

Anna knows she pushed too far. But she’s just so curious to learn more about their new friend.

* * *

Naomi is worried about Camina. The other woman has been sullen and withdrawn ever since they fled Tycho. Naomi can’t exactly blame her, but...it does make for an unpleasant traveling companion. Then again, the _Roci_ crew had often been in foul moods ever since the war began in earnest, so maybe it’s what Naomi should come to expect from everyone.

But that doesn’t mean Naomi can’t try and help. Even if Camina really doesn’t want it. Camina catches Naomi staring at her.

“What is it?” Camina’s tone is blunt, with a shade of crossness coming through.

“I know leaving Tycho was hard--”

“It was what had to be done. Nothing more to say.”

“Right. Where do you want to go from here?”

“Find Dawes. Stab him in the face.” Camina’s lips twitch into a smile. She’s messing with Naomi.

“But what do you _really_ want to do.”

“Well, I’d love to _stop_ Dawes. But that’s not in the cards, right now. So we wait.”

“You hate waiting.”

“This is true.”

“Camina, can you--”

“What? Open up to you? No, Naomi. Not right now. Maybe after all of this is over.”

“I’ll go check on the engines again,” Naomi says. Because that’s really all she can do. But she looks back at Camina before heading down. For perhaps the first time since she’s met her, Camina looks impossibly sad.

* * *

Clarissa tries to sleep, but it’s hard, with all the racket around her, Anna and Nami. And Anna keeps trying to make conversation--intrusive conversation, which Clarissa would really rather not have.

But Anna doesn’t know anything about Clarissa, besides her fake name, and now that she had a sister on Eros. Julie. Stubborn, passionate Julie, who believed in the cause of the Belters above all else, even her own life. Clarissa doesn’t know if she could ever think of a time when she had a cause she believed in that much.

A voice comes from over the speaker: “Next transport to the Ring, boarding in five minutes. May God have mercy on your souls.” Clarissa smirks a little. Indeed, that was the sentiment she felt, too. Anna begins to pick up her things, and Clarissa goes to help. Anna has a lot for a refugee.

“Thank you,” Anna says, sweetly.

“You’re welcome.”

“Come on, Nami. Time to go.”

Clarissa soon realizes that their little group is the only one approaching the airlock that leads to the Ring transport. This is a folly, she supposes, and they will most certainly die, but maybe that’s what she wants.

“No one else is coming,” Nami says, suddenly scared.

“More room for us,” Anna says.

“Maybe we should go to one of the Belt stations,” Clarissa finds herself saying.

“We’ve come this far, Melba. Time to board, anyway.”

Clarissa lets Anna and Nami go ahead of her, looking around at the crowd staring back at them.

_We’re doomed_.

* * *

Prax is standing at the airlock, waiting for Amos to get out of the head. He watches out the airlock window as the transport lands at the research facility. _Mei is so close. Almost there._

Amos emerges from the head and walks slowly over to Prax.

“She’s going to be here,” Prax says, but he’s nervous.

“She better be here,” Amos grunts.

The ship docks and the airlock opens. And on the other side: a little girl. _His_ little girl.

Prax races towards Mei, picking her up and swinging her into the air.

“Daddy!” She squeals.

Prax hugs her tight and twirls her around, almost unbelieving that his plan worked. That he is finally reunited with his baby girl, after such a long time. He looks over to Amos, and he carries Mei over to the burly man.

“Mei Meng, meet Amos Burton.”

“What’s that thing on his arm?”

Prax doesn’t know what to say, but Amos saves him, because he always does.

“Just a medical band, Mei. A little seasickness, that’s all. Nice to meet you.” Amos smiles for the first time since they left the _Rocinante_. He shakes Mei’s hand, politely.

“Who is Amos?” Mei says with a giggle, as she leads Prax and Amos from the dock.

“He’s my best friend,” Prax says, looking back at the drugged man.

Amos just shrugs.

_Maybe it’s still true. Maybe_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh ho! a new chapter like, three months later. sorry, y'all. and I don't know when chapter 9 will be out...someday soon.


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